Counterplay
by Paper Ring
Summary: Sequel to "Checkmate". John Sheppard has a score to settle with someone who wants to extend the game to painful proportions. Rated M only for sporadic strong language.
1. A Thorn Begins to Fester

_Author's Note: I told you there might be a sequel! I hope you guys enjoy this. I wrote it for Nanowrimo last month so it's a bit choppy. I'm editing as I publish so bear with me. Review and tell me your thoughts :)_

* * *

It was one of those nights where all the windows had to be open in order to sleep comfortably. Florida nights could be unbearably hot. By opening the windows, however, one could achieve a perfect balance of coolness during the night.

Yet, a sheet of sweat still appeared on her brow. He noticed it as he kissed her. He didn't know how long it would be this time.

She woke up. That wasn't something he wanted.

Before he could slip away, she grabbed his face in her soft hands. Earnestly, she begged him not to go.

She reminded him of the time it had been since the thing that he felt obligated to right occurred – three years, to be exact. She reminded him of the child sleeping in the next room, tucked in his bed then, unfailingly dependent on his father.

While his heart strings had been thoroughly tugged, he'd been planning this for those three years. He had other priorities.

He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. And he loved that little boy more than he could put into words.

But he owed a favor to a good friend.

He owed a favor to himself.

And that night was the first step in repaying that debt.

Wiping her eyes with his thumbs, he bade one last goodbye.

III

Her phone rang.

Her husband cursed next to her and rolled towards it.

Flying into action, she intercepted his angry fist and grabbed it, not failing to wince at the flashing time of 0330 hours before answering it.

"Carter here."

_"General, I'm sorry to call you so early. But we have a situation."_

She already had a fairly good idea as to what this situation entailed but she asked anyway. "Regarding what, Colonel Lorne?"

_"_Flock _is back on our sensors. It looks like they're up to something."_

III

After three years, Eccelston had grown accustomed to the rigid prison schedule.

He had learned to love the monotony. He had even taken comfort in it.

It had given him the ability to zone out for hours at time, at some points, even days – which was a lovely escape from the ruminations on his imminent execution.

The warden frequently reminded him with a day-to-day countdown. Today was "_T _minus 14 days".

If that were meant to frighten him, Eccelston could only smirk in amusement. Ever since his training back in Australia as a young boy, he'd been accustomed to the regular assault of death. He'd often stared at it in the face on many occasions.

To have it come at an appointed time seemed laughable.

However, to have his unrelenting schedule suddenly become unpredictable seemed to terrify him more than anything.

The guard had not come by with his supper at the usual 19:00-19:05 time period.

It was now 19:34 and not a soul could be heard from his cell.

The silence was disconcerting and beginning to wrack at his mind more than any psychological torture he had ever endured.

Just before he had let out a desperate call to try and receive an answer, he heard the reassuring sound of combat boots thump through the echoing halls.

Gradually, Eccelston's breathing slowed and his pulse returned to a normal pace.

He waited eagerly to see the comforting shadow pass in front of his door, slip a tray through the opening and disappear until approximately 5:58 the next morning.

But as the figure neared, he noticed something strangely different about it.

The thoroughly hammered-in skills of his began to detect something amiss and immediately set off warning signals in his head.

Eccelston watched as the figure stood silently for a moment and reached for the door rather than the tray compartment.

His heart beat faster as the entry opened in a seemingly effortless fashion.

As the obstacle was pushed away, he was finally able to look into the face of his tormentor. It was not the warden.

But as he slowly began to recall from where he had seen this man before, he quickly realized that the real torture had barely begun.

III

He stared at the shell of a man sitting patiently on his neatly made prison bed.

There was a stark difference in the pitiful sack of bones before him to the eager assassin who systematically tore a hole into his life and then into his closest friend's.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked carefully.

The man licked his lips and replied in that godforsaken accent he had heard so often in his nightmares. "Am I right in guessing you're a dissatisfied client come to exact revenge?"

"I was never a client," he narrowed his eyes. "But I was dissatisfied. I've got the scar to prove it." He reached towards the back of his head and gripped the hair surrounding the injury.

The Australian chuckled. "You'll have to be a little more specific, mate. I've hit my fair share of men in the back of the head."

But the sudden shiftiness in his eyes gave way to his façade. This man knew exactly who he was.

"Enough games. I'm here for answers."

"I'll give them to you," he promised, "I ask only for my answers to my own questions in return."

"We'll see."

"Of you go then," he prodded.

"Where is Cale Sternhall?"

He chuckled. "Still holding a grudge, are we?"

All self-control shattered at that instant, and he pinned the prisoner against the wall and demanded an answer.

His courage didn't falter but he did reply in a stern voice. "I don't know where he is."

He released him and turned his back, trying to regain the composure he promised himself he would maintain throughout the mission.

"My turn, Mr. Sheppard," he reminded.

"Go on," he grunted.

"What happened to the guards?"

"They've been relieved until further notice," John responded bitingly. "You'd be surprised what an expired top-level security clearance can do for you."

"I wouldn't, actually."

"Why are you still protecting Cale?"

"Am I?" The other man shrugged and displayed expressions of mock confusion as he returned to his position on the bed, "or do I truly not know where he is on account of having been behind bars for the past three consecutive years?"

"Don't give me that garbage," Sheppard scoffed and approached him once again. "Every single one of you moles knows where each other are. You have those cliché senses of distrust. There's no brotherhood in cloak and dagger teams."

"I worked _for_ Cale," Eccelston reminded him. "He didn't have to tell me anything."

"Then where –

"My turn," he interrupted with a grin.

John bit his tongue and allowed the slime ball to attempt an equally intimidating interrogation. He knew these types. They were all about mind games when they were cornered. Sheppard was surprised the man hadn't coerced the warden into simply letting him free on account of that one skill.

"How is Dr. McKay doing these days?"

"You would know better than me," he told him. "I haven't seen him in a couple years."

Eccelston laughed. "Mr. Sheppard, you can't expect an expert liar to believe an amateur like you at such an attempt."

"Where are Cale's safety zones?"

"Safety zones?"

Clenching his fists, John remained above the urge to strangle the man. "I know you have them – whatever it is you call those countries that you all resort to when you're in danger of being caught. Those fancy houses in Iraq, Greece, Egypt – whatever."

"I'm afraid Cale's houses are nowhere quite as exotic," the prisoner shrugged. "He prefers the classier areas such as England, Scotland, and the like."

Figuring that in his limited amount of time, this was the most information he was going to glean, Sheppard turned to leave.

"I believe I have one more question to ask," he halted him.

Not seeing the harm in allowing the bastard one last attempt to jab him below the belt, he waited.

"How is it that you can convince yourself of Teyla and Torren's safety while you're out gallivanting around with your new team of –

John's forearm was pressed up against Eccelston's esophagus before he could even finish.

Fixing the scrawny man to the wall, he seethed with fury. "You lied to me. You do keep in touch with the rest of them."

Amidst the choking noises, Eccelston remained rather unfazed as he only chuckled in reply.

Anger fueling him, Sheppard continued to throttle the man and would have continued to do so if it weren't for the blaring alarm that sounded.

They had finally run his badge through the system only to find that it was not only invalid but also had been recently tagged as a high-level threat.

He now had less than ten minutes to get what he came for.

Eccelston was just a pit stop.

He released him with a pointed blow of his elbow into the other man's throat.

Without looking back, he headed back out into the hallway.

It was difficult to circumnavigate through the many corridors, despite how often he had reviewed the layout beforehand.

The constant shouts and pleas of other inmates to be released didn't help his concentration.

Finally, he had found the lowest security clearance area at the bottom level.

It didn't take much longer to find the correct cell and unlock the latch. Surprisingly, they had not yet deactivated the key card they had given him.

Locking eyes with the inmate, he smiled. "Long time no see."

"You're late," he scowled.

III

"How did he manage to break into a prison?" she demanded, staring in disbelief at the projector screen erected in front of the room.

Intelligence officers dashed about as they continued to keep constant tabs on their target.

"All members of _Flock_ seem to have been able to reprogram their top-level security clearance badges to look and act as legitimate ones – at least for a limited time," Lorne explained as he gestured to an example on one of the screens. "We've attached warnings and alerts to them as well but they don't appear any faster than the warnings of invalidity."

"How in the world…" Carter muttered. She herself was in the business of making the impossible possible with the handy tools of technology, but some of the trickery used by _Flock_ still astounded her. It almost sounded like canonization when she wrote up reports.

"We've deployed a team to that area but for now their own men are attempting to apprehend him," the colonel told her.

Samantha looked up at the officer from the monitor. "We already know where he's heading and why he's there. We need to corner him."

Lorne shook his head. "It's too late. Two cells have already been unlocked."

Carter furrowed her brow as she tried to concentrate on her subject.

It had been awhile since she conversed with Sheppard. He'd been high and low in the past eight years that the Stargate program had been shut down.

She had thought that after the last off-world mission, in which they recovered a long lost teammate that had been especially dear to John, he would turn around for good.

He'd been acquitted of the false charges of murder, gotten rid of his drinking problem, and even started a family.

But there was one sacrifice for all of this – Rodney McKay.

A close friend and confidant of Sheppard's, he found himself unable to deal with the treason charges that held the scientist behind bars for the remainder of his life.

The general recalled having to oust him out of her office on one particularly aggravating occasion. The fact that she had refused to go along with his schema of locating the man who started the whole ordeal, thus possibly freeing Dr. McKay, brought out flashes of the old Sheppard from three years ago.

Since then, he'd been a thorn in her side in covert dealings.

Carter realized now that she should have known that the ex-colonel's target would have been the sensitive crimes prison in which Rodney was being held. But she had refused to believe him and his team, _Flock_, would ever reach that point in their recent string of what had been nothing but irritating misdemeanors.

Now the general was beginning to see where this man thought he stood. And that was above the law.

John Sheppard was her friend and she had respected him. But she feared that John Sheppard she had known had died with the Stargate program.

"Status?" she snapped, trying to regain at least the illusion of control over the situation.

The colonel looked down as he focused on the stream of information coming through on his earpiece.

His face fell as he looked up at her. "They're gone."


	2. Stubbornly Loyal

_Author's Note: CHECKMATE: _ s/7631936/1/Checkmate

_Thought I would add that in since I guess most people wouldn't know where to find it. _

_Sorry it took so long to update. No excuse. Just pure laziness. Terribly sorry. Review for me? Enjoy!  
_

* * *

"I hate using that thing – it makes my stomach upset."

"Everything makes your stomach upset," he responded with a growl. "You know, it wouldn't hurt for you to show some appreciation for the technology that saved your ass."

"And ultimately made me America's Most Wanted," came the muttered reply.

John reeled around and considered knocking the other man into the dirt.

"You _want_ to go back, Rodney?" he jerked his thumb in the direction of the facility. "I'm sure they'd be glad to see you again."

To his surprise, McKay seemed unfazed by the angry reaction.

"I just find it hard to believe we were out of options."

Sheppard turned on his heel and walked deeper into the woods. "Believe it," he called. "They won't let you out until I drag his sorry ass in front of a jury. And I can't drag it unless I have yours to help me find him."

He could hear the smirk in the scientist's voice as he asked, "none of your new team members quite measure up, do they?"

Instead of bowing to his friend's invitation, John replied simply, "I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble if they did."

After a farther walk, Sheppard knelt down towards the bag of supplies he had hidden away earlier. He pulled out a wad of clothes and shoved them into Rodney's hands.

"This will be refreshing, won't it?" he said flatly, motioning to the orange jumpsuit that did anything but compliment.

The scientist leaned forward to sniff the articles and withdrew quickly, a twisted expression on his face. "I don't think 'refreshing' is quite the word I'd use," he said pointing to the offensive mess of fabric.

"Just change."

Rodney did so, without much more reluctance. Despite the suspicious stench radiating from the clothes, Sheppard know his friend couldn't help but acknowledge the accuracy of his statement – it had to feel good getting out of those prison jumpsuits. He knew too well.

McKay returned and handed the device that had been strapped to his arm back to John.

"So how'd you manage to get a hold of Ford's devices? I thought the IOA had locked them away."

Sheppard cringed at the name attached to the technology. It still brought a pang of guilt and sorrow every time Aiden reappeared in conversation. But he ignored it.

"I still have a few friends," he started, reaching out for the device and bagging it.

"By friends, you mean those who appreciate being compensated," Rodney guessed.

John paused in his packing to look up at him out of his peripheral vision. Of all people, he didn't need McKay getting into his business only to judge him by the way he did things. Sighing, Sheppard said nothing as he slung the bag onto his back. "Let's go," he said.

III

"I must admit, Jennifer, I did not expect to see you very soon."

Teyla watched as the other woman nodded sadly and wrapped her hands around the cool glass of water that had been provided.

Keller had begun aging rapidly since Dr. McKay's incarceration.

She still loved him, she had told her. But what was the point? There would be no hope of starting a family or even having a real marriage in that predicament.

Nevertheless, she had faithfully written him after they had begun to deny him visitors – something that truly struck Jennifer in the most painful way.

"I just really needed to talk to someone," she admitted.

Teyla placed a comforting hand over her friend's. "You are welcome anytime for any reason."

She smiled, but it did not seem genuine. There had to be more of a reason to travel so far than to just talk.

The front door slammed and was followed by the sound of little feet pattering through the house.

The curly-headed boy rushed into the room – not paying a moment's attention to Dr. Keller – and asked his mother the same question that had been asked every day that week after he returned from school. "Is Dad home?"

"No, Torren," Teyla smiled, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill every time that he asked.

The poor child's entire being fell. His shoulders slumped and his eyes drooped.

He slogged his way to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"He's getting so big," Jennifer commented, pausing before venturing on. "Where is Sheppard?"

The question was innocent enough but the dangers behind answering it were far too great. As much as she disagreed with John's recent choices, she still loved him and still preferred to have him safe.

"He is on a business trip," she replied truthfully. "Though I am not exactly sure where or for how long." _Not truthfully._

"He doesn't tell you?"

Teyla shook her head. "I do not usually ask."

"Where do you think he is?"

The initial inquiry was suspicious enough, but the follow-up questions raised the hairs on her arms even more.

Slowly standing up, she called to her son.

Before there was a response, however, she heard the sound of the front door banging against the wall with great force.

Keller stood and blocked Teyla's exit path via the glass sliding door.

But she was not headed in that direction. Already she had thrown open the door to her son's bedroom and had begun to pull him through the window with her.

Something jerked her back inside.

Torren cried out as he was pulled away from her.

Maternal instincts kicked in and she fought wildly against her assailants.

Gradually, she had begun to hear them speak. They were attempting to calm her but she refused such assurance until she could see her son.

A familiar voice broke through her frightened cries, however, and she stopped.

Looking up into the face of the one who was holding her back, she saw Evan Lorne.

"It's okay, Teyla," he was saying. "It's alright. Calm down!"

"Where is my son?" she demanded nonetheless, turning violently within his grasp.

Jennifer then appeared in front of her, holding Torren's hand. "I'm sorry Teyla, but they have to find Sheppard. I had to help."

She couldn't convey more betrayal than through her silence as she looked between her child and her friend.

"She'll take care of him while we talk," Lorne said from behind. "Come on."

III

As Samantha stared through the one-way glass at the frightened woman, she began to wonder if she made a mistake.

There was no doubt in her mind that Teyla knew where Sheppard was. In fact, she was completely sure of it.

But she was questioning whether or not it was worth tearing her child from her arms and dragging her into such an intimidating environment.

Carter had insisted on being the one that questioned her. She wouldn't have her go through interrogation by a professional who had about the same ability to emote as the stone walls that held her in.

Unfortunately, that would also create a bigger tear in their relationship.

She had just seen Teyla for the first time since her supposed death and had barely begun to recreate that friendship they had had before.

The general knew how much she had been through during those five years of captivity she had endured with the Wraith. Endless amounts of torture and seclusion all compounded to create an understandably paranoid woman.

And now, she was being arrested, booked, and cross-examined like a prisoner.

Samantha could only hope that she cooperated.

She opened the door slowly and offered a friendly smile. It was not returned. Instead, the other woman returned her eyes to the opposite wall, keeping her head held high but maintaining a sense of detachment.

It was the Athosian way of dealing with enemies – to be prideful in the face of the otherwise humbling circumstance of capture.

"You're not in trouble, Teyla," Carter told her, hoping to dissuade that mindset before they began. "We just need to know a few things."

Her brown eyes remained fixed at the wall. Her expression did not change in the slightest. She was stubborn.

_Stubbornly loyal_, the general thought sadly. How could she ask her to betray the man she loved to the same people who might as well have been holding her child hostage?

Sam sighed. "I know you're feeling hurt, betrayed, and maybe even a little bit angry. But John is a criminal and it's imperative that you give us any information you may have as to his whereabouts."

She paused, hoping for a response.

Teyla finally made eye contact. "He is wherever he needs to be to make things right again."

III

Rodney McKay had always been one to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if that horse happened to break him out of a high-security prison.

As much as he was enjoying just being outside of an eight-by-twelve room, the accommodations provided by _Flock_ were less than adequate. The only simile he could conjure in his mind would be that of the photos he'd seen of Nazi concentration camps. The beds were nothing but bales of hay with tattered sheets pulled over them and the rooms had more than their fair share of rodent residents. Granted, they _were _staying underground in newly constructed tunnels.

He tried not to whine, but a few complaints often slipped through.

Today it was the food – or the lack thereof.

_Flock_ strictly rationed their meals to the point where it didn't even seem healthy.

For the first few weeks, Rodney was able to endure the morning bowl of gruel and the evening bowl of soup that looked suspiciously like morning gruel decorated with unnecessary ornaments. But today he had found a cicada doing the breaststroke with its one working wing around in his "soup". It seemed to be the last straw.

However, Sheppard was anything but sympathetic.

"Then don't eat it," came the indifferent response. The retired colonel was pouring over old maps that were spread out beneath a dozen different reference texts.

The room was lighted with candles that were sporadically placed about the room. John was wrapped in scarves and a woolen jacket but wisps of cold breath still floated about him.

He looked busy and exhausted and it was all McKay could to bite his tongue and save the rest of the rant for later.

Setting the bowl he had brought as evidence aside, he stood next to his friend.

"Any ideas?"

Sheppard shrugged and visibly pushed himself away from his work to look at the scientist. "Eccelston was less than helpful, although I'm not sure what I was expecting. Gave him enough of an incentive."

"You could try again," Rodney suggested.

John cringed and then smirked. "That's kind of impossible now."

"You killed him?"

"Had to," he laughed in frustration as he returned to his maps, "the less they learn about me the better."

"It's Sam that's tracking you, Sheppard," McKay scoffed. "I don't think there's a thing more she'd need to learn about you."

The old soldier looked across the room momentarily before looking down again. "I'm not _that _Colonel Sheppard anymore. I'm different."

"I don't see any difference."

A half-smile curled up on his face. "Thanks, Rodney."

And for the first time since he'd escaped, the scientist actually looked at his friend.

He was haggard and older but McKay would bet that he himself looked the same in that respect. But there was something in the man's eyes that caught his attention.

There was a twinkle of ambition, of cause. He had something to fight for – or someone – perhaps several someones.

That was when Rodney realized how little the two had talked about their personal lives.

"How is Teyla, John?" he asked solemnly. The last time he had asked this question, his friend had blown it off in a casual manner, slyly changing the subject. But his tone intimated that he wanted a serious answer.

Sensing his somber manner, Sheppard looked up at him. After a moment, he answered. "She's good. Torren's good. He started third grade this year."

McKay smiled at the thought of that curly-headed toddler attending school. "What does he call you?"

John quickly looked away and straightened up, keeping his face hidden from his friend's view. He inhaled deeply before he shakily replied.

"Dad. He calls me 'Dad'."

III

Cale Sternhall slowly rotated the glass between his fingers. He stared at it intently as he thought.

There were hundreds of other people in the room, all dressed up with nowhere to go but his parlor.

He had hosted the event purely for the show of it. Those with mansions in their possessions were expected to host from three to five parties a month in this neighborhood. Cale had no problem obliging by those rules.

The only trouble was the completely vapid guests that seemed to attend.

None of them had any care in the world that was of the slightest real concern. He recalled one particular bemusing conversation with a woman who would not cease her ranting on the subject of her pedigree dog's inconvenient grooming schedule.

These people truly did not understand, nor conceptualize the idea of, the world outside their garden parties.

Meanwhile, Cale's mind was constantly on the situations that were taking place across the pond.

He looked to his other hand which grasped the most recent update that had been printed out and handed to him.

Gregory Eccelston was dead - choked to death in his cell. The perpetrator was unnamed but that was hardly a puzzle to solve.

There was only one man with a vendetta big enough to be able to break into such a fortified prison and execute someone himself.

But Cale took comfort in the fact that Gregory was a loyal and fearless man. Even if he had been interrogated, he would have given nothing away that might endanger his old employer's safety.

Still, something within him stirred uncomfortably. He felt a cold presence continually nearing him, exciting the hairs on the back of his neck and sending an anticipating tremble throughout his body.

John Sheppard was not to be underestimated.


	3. Reluctantly

_AN: So happy with all the reviews I've been getting lately. I'm going to try to upload more often, I promise!_

* * *

Carter watched with irritated relief as Jack waltzed through the doors, clutching a Krispy Kreme box, as though he were at home and not a high-security detainment facility.

She rapidly met up with him. "How did you get in here?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Hey," he pointed a finger at her. "Getting my ass kicked by pretty much any alien to ever exist has got to count for something – even if I am retired."

Sam stuffed her hands in her pockets and blew out an aggravated sigh. "I'm going to have to have a talk with security…"

"Think that'll make a difference?"

"Probably not," she sighed in resignation and slowly began to replace the frown with a smile.

He pecked her on the lips and held up the box. "Donut?"

"God, yes."

He handed the goods to her and she grabbed the one that looked like it packed the most sugar into it. Taking a giant bite, she motioned to the hungry eyes around her to help themselves.

"How's it going?" he asked as he stepped closer to the one-way window, cocking his head as he watched the woman on the other side.

The general shook her head. "As well as you might expect. Teyla's about as stubborn as you are; only she's definitely not cracking jokes."

Although Samantha had been given the unspoken order to no longer discuss happenings with O'Neill, despite their "new" relationship, conversations with her husband about her day were her only method of therapy she trusted. Also, she figured he would find out anyway, considering just a wink at reception would grant him a visit with the president.

"Well, you did take her kid away from her," he murmured.

Without warning, Teyla suddenly stood up and tossed her chair at the window, startling the two viewers behind it.

Jack whistled as he stepped back. "She is _angry_."

"No kidding. She hasn't spoken to anyone in the last five hours. That outburst is – what?" O'Neill's jaw had dropped in shock and Carter studied his face.

"You've been holding her in that room for _five hours_?"

"We have to," the general replied helplessly. "The sooner we know where Sheppard is, the better."

"Ok yeah, but…" he trailed off, gesturing wordlessly.

Finally, he threw his hands out and marched towards the door.

Before Sam could stop him, he already had gotten the sentry to unlock it for him and he stepped inside.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to regain control. What the heck was he doing?

Returning to the one-way window, she turned on the PA and listened in.

Jack ambled inside and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Teyla looked at him briefly but said nothing. After a few moments of awkward silence, the ex-general casually picked up the chucked chair and replaced it in its rightful place – right in front of her.

The Athosian was still heaving from her flare-up, but her attention was now spurned to the sight of someone she had not seen in years.

Still having not said a single word, he sat across the table from her, leaned across and folded his hands, all the while his eyes fixated on her.

Though his back was to her, Samantha could easily imagine the expression on her husband's face at that moment – soft, sympathetic, caring and reassuring. She remembered it all to well from her days as a Captain, often relying on him to direct and guide her in the most stressful of situations.

She couldn't fathom Teyla being unaffected by this.

Finally, he spoke. "You got to be hungry by now, am I right?"

The woman's face flickered for just an instant but she remained stolid, still standing proudly.

"Got it," he stood up, slapping the table. "You and Torren, meal's on me."

At the sound of her son's name, Teyla started towards him but did not move any further.

"I'll be right back," he promised and exited.

He walked right past Samantha until she grabbed him by his arm. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

Her husband feigned his most innocent expression as he replied. "Getting Torren and some Mickey D's – be back in an hour, General."

III

It had been a long journey, and it was several days past the date at which he had promised to be there, but he had finally made it.

He had managed to avoid being shot on sight by the one that guarded the entrance to the tunnel by tackling him and shoving the letter Sheppard had written to him in the man's face.

It was only after the announcement of his presence was radioed in that he was allowed to enter _Flock's_ catacombs.

He had not traveled ten meters into the tunnels before he was greeted with a hearty hug by a dark-haired scraggly old man.

It took several moments before he could recognize the face of his old friend.

"Sheppard you look like hell," he said frankly, pushing the other man out at arm's distance so he could look into his face.

"Missed you too, Chewie," he laughed weakly, gripping him by the shoulder.

Ronon smiled back, returning the gesture with a vigorous slap on the back. John grimaced but quickly recovered.

"And then there were three, eh?"

Turning, the Runner saw McKay slowly join the two. He looked just as emaciated as Sheppard but there was something different in his lope. That irritatingly confident strut had been toned down.

"Didn't expect to see you again," he said truthfully. Though he had been told Rodney would be there, he had a hard time believing even Sheppard could break the scientist out of such a tight facility.

"You either," he replied. "How'd you get away from your roommate?"

Ronon shrugged. "I waited till he was asleep."

"Ah."

"This has been great guys," John interrupted the reunion. "But we got work to do."

The two agreed and they followed him to the makeshift conference room.

He smiled to himself in satisfaction. Now that his 'Brains' and 'Brawns' were both there, he could finally get down to business.

III

Teyla had always liked Jack O'Neill. Once he handed her son back into her arms, she was overcome with gratefulness and realized just how much she did like the man.

She figured he had gone over Samantha's head in obtaining Torren, but she knew better than to ask questions.

After she had finished covering her child's face in kisses and hugging him as tightly as she could without crushing him, she looked up at Jack with tear-filled eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded and looked away – obviously uncomfortable with the amount of emotion that had suddenly flourished in the room.

She sighed and let Torren sit in his own chair and continue to eat the happy meal O'Neill had procured for him.

"Now," he leaned over the table and folded his hands, looking at her. "What can you tell me about John?"

Teyla had known that returning her son to her was only a tactic in getting her to cooperate. Guilt flooded her mind as she weighed both options.

Either way she would be betraying someone. She knew in her heart she couldn't give the man she loved over to them but she also knew what he was doing was inherently wrong.

There was no middle ground.

Before she could even speak, Jack spoke again.

"Teyla, I know you love him," he paused, searching for the right words. "But I know you know that something is not right."

She nodded reluctantly.

"What Sheppard is doing is good in theory, but he's doing a lot of bad things to get there. _Flock_ has to be stopped. Vigilante teams are always good on paper but in action, they're nothing but a bunch of terrorists."

"He really believes in what he is doing," she responded. "If he did not, he would not leave Torren and me alone so often."

O'Neill looked down at his hands. "Maybe he's obsessed."

Teyla raised a brow at the accusation.

"Think about it," he implored, slamming his fist on the table, startling the child slightly. "John went from a neurotic shut-in to Colonel Sheppard – rank notwithstanding – within a span of about four months. When he got home, everything was different – he had you and Torren, McKay was locked up, and the man who almost sent him to the gallows was off on the loose. More stress was piled on him afterwards than before. I'd almost say he was happier as a drunkard than he is now."

She winced at the last statement, not able to help but take offense.

Noticing her hurt, he reached out a hand. "I don't mean that you and the kid didn't make him happier – all I'm saying is that now he has a whole lot more to lose."

Sighing, Teyla glanced at her son momentarily before returning her gaze to O'Neill. "I know he is unhappy. It has stressed our relationship greatly to know that his family is not enough for him. From the moment he was released, he has been preoccupied with finding Cale. But I do believe in him and what he is –

"He killed someone last night," Jack interrupted.

"What?"

"At the institution," he explained with a sigh, never wanting to have to use that information to guilt trip her. "He asphyxiated Gregory Eccelston, the man who framed him at the convenience store. He's losing control, Teyla. If we don't find him soon, who knows who he might hurt next!"

"Dad killed somebody?" Torren cried out.

Both turned to see the child wrought with confusion. One chicken nugget was tightly grasped in his hand as he looked between his mother and his new friend.

In her focus, Teyla had completely forgotten about how the nature of the conversation might affect her young son.

She gave the ex-general a look and he motioned to someone on the other side of the mirror.

Torren called out again. "Mommy! Did Dad kill someone?"

Samantha entered quickly and rushed to grab the boy by the hand.

"Go with Sam," Teyla encouraged, trying to smile.

He obeyed but she could already see the tears welling up in his eyes as the prospect of his father hurting someone clouded his mind.

Once the two had left the room, O'Neill spoke softly. "We need to find John before this gets anymore out of hand."

Distressed by the recent event of the unhappiness of her son, Teyla knew she was compromised. She did not know if the ploy had been set up by the experts under Samantha Carter but she did not care. It was real to Torren and it was real to her.

She was now faced with a choice between her child and John. If they found John now, perhaps he might get a chance to be a good father to the boy. But if she let him go on from where he was, he might never come home.

"I will tell you all that I know under certain conditions," she spoke tremulously. Sheppard had taught her about negotiations during the Atlantis expedition. As the diplomat, she had learned several techniques and employed them on several occasions. Now she would use it in the most imperative of times.

"Name them," O'Neill said evenly.

III

Cale shot the butler.

He didn't mean to. He just happened to be the nearest person when he had the urgent need to let off some steam.

The woman in his bed screamed but he had regained control just in time to spare her.

No need for more blood for the maids to clean.

"Oh, shut up," he said simply.

She whimpered and took refuge under the sheets as she watched him replace the caliber within the dresser.

He walked around the body and retrieved the message that had incited him so much when it was read to him.

Shaking off as much blood as he could from the card, he then turned it over to read, hoping that the idiot had simply been mistaken.

Unfortunately, the words were printed just as they had been spoken:

"MCKAY ESCAPED BY WAY OF SHEPPARD AND _FLOCK_"

"Sorry," Cale apologized to the corpse, giving it a gentle kick. "You were right after all."

He sighed and shredded the note, looking out the window forlornly.

This was very bad news indeed.

Sheppard was a vengeful man but he lacked too much to successfully complete the mission of ever finding him.

A majority of what he was bereft of, however, Rodney McKay made up for.

The ex-soldier was one step closer to finding him.

The door to his room opened slowly. Turning, he saw the second butler peek his head through.

"Is everything alright, Master Sternhall?"

He saw the body on the floor but hid his astonishment well.

"No," Cale replied honestly. "Everything is not alright. Do me a favor however and show Miss…"

He looked to his companion but failed to fit a name to the shock-ridden face and waved a hand carelessly. "Send a maid to help this woman out of the house."

"Right away, Sir. Will there be anything else?"

"Um," Cale walked towards the nightstand and picked up his mobile. After searching through his contacts and having failed to find the one he was looking for, he looked back up. "Get me David Sheppard's number."


	4. Brother

"No," she said stubbornly.

"Teyla, please –

"No," she repeated. "You will have to find someone else."

Jennifer pleaded several times more but was rejected heartlessly each time.

Samantha couldn't blame the woman, of course. She had just been betrayed by the very same friend just hours earlier. And now she was expected to entrust the safety of her child with her?

It was quite a stretch.

"Dr. Keller really is our only option, Teyla," Carter interjected. "Unless you want to go with someone you don't know at all."

"I know you," she turned to look at her. "I would trust you with my son."

The general was taken aback by this statement. She was more involved in Teyla's arrest than Keller was and yet, the Athosian didn't seem to harbor nearly as much animosity as she did towards Jennifer.

"I'm not an option," she shook her head. "I'm going on this mission too, remember?"

Teyla now looked desperate as she struggled to think. "What about O'Neill?"

From around the corner came a resounding 'no'.

"Jack's only good with kids to a certain point," Sam told her, explaining the sudden and adamantly negative response.

She seemed determined not to allow Keller to have custody of her child, just to prove a point, and Carter was sick of it.

"Teyla, don't make me go over your head with this," she begged. "I really don't want to."

The woman was mindlessly stroking her son's curly locks until she finally stooped down to his level.

She whispered something in his ear and hugged him.

They placed their foreheads together and everyone instinctively looked away out of respect for the Athosian gesture of affection.

Standing up, she then prodded her child to go to Dr. Keller.

Teyla transformed from loving mother to ferocious protector in a matter of seconds. "Do not let anything happen to him," she said sternly.

III

John watched as his favorite candle was slowly turning into nothing but a liquid mess upon his desk.

The wax had dripped over onto several papers that he had no choice but to deem worthless afterward.

But the growing length of the tendrils was fascinating. From one small cylinder turned a vine that had reached each end of the desk with its waxy stems.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

He looked up to see Roma standing at the door to his "study" – or the closest you could get to one in a tunnel.

"Come in," he gestured, shaking himself awake.

"I just wanted to apologize for my –

Sheppard held out a hand. "Stop right there. I know why you reacted the way you did – instinct. I'm just really protective of my old teammates. You understand…"

She nodded and looked down. "You're the only one that knows my true story, you know."

John nodded silently but was unable to put his thoughts into words. Roma had suffered greatly by the hand of Cale and he couldn't even begin to attempt to empathize with that pain.

She strode towards his desk and disappeared behind him. "I want you to know how much you mean to me and everyone in _Flock_. You're a hero to us all and we'd follow you anywhere."

The moment he felt the hands grasp his shoulders; Sheppard shot up out of his seat and whirled around. "What are you –

Placing a finger to his lips, she smiled. "I just want to show my appreciation."

Her hands moved to cup his face and he grabbed her wrists firmly and moved them away. "Now calm down a second here," he urged.

Roma's face fell and moved from hurt to anger. She started to say something, to cry out in heartache and attempt to win back her pride, but she was interrupted.

"I have a family," he said hurriedly, hoping he would not regret this revelation.

She raised her brows. "A wife?"

"No," he said. "But someone I love – and a son."

Stepping away, she was now completely unable to hide her shame. Looking down, she asked. "Why haven't you told us this before?"

He shrugged. "It wasn't necessary. Besides, I'd like to keep my private life out of this. I just didn't want you to feel like you were –

"I understand," she held out a hand, wordlessly imploring him not to speak of the matter again. "Good night, Sheppard."

Once she had disappeared, he ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath.

John hadn't encountered an awkward situation like that in years. And never had he been able to use that as an excuse before.

He smiled slightly to himself as he thought of it, however.

_I have a family._

His phone rang.

Curiously, he turned towards the cell phone that was tucked away in his jacket, lying on the floor.

Sheppard hadn't tested whether or not there would be such thing as a signal this far underground – he had supposed there wouldn't be.

But nevertheless, as he dug through the pockets and pulled out the phone, which was surely ringing.

The call didn't have a traceable location but the number did seem odd.

"Hello?" he answered.

_"John?"_ A shaky voice responded.

Sheppard gulped. "Dave?"

III

It hadn't been hard to lure David Sheppard over to England. All it took was one name drop of a famous utilities company that solely operated in the UK and he was hooked.

He certainly lived up to the reputation that beheld him as greedy and ambitious. Luckily for America, David had the secret aspiration of running for the presidency in the next election, though he had only delved into politics within the last couple of years.

But now here he was – sweating in his Armani suit and tie, and shaking in his buffed and shined shoes.

Of course, most anyone would be in the same state of fear if sitting in a parlor with eight different weapons pointed at your head.

Nevertheless, Cale attempted to calm the idiot and inform him of his real purpose there.

"Have some scotch," he offered, gesturing to the set up in front of the man. He had wanted this to be a civil meeting, but Baby Sheppard seemed to be determined to maintain the frightened child stigma.

Unable to accept or decline the offer, the man simply stared back in shock and horror.

"I guess we should get down to business then, shouldn't we?" Cale sighed, disappointed that his guest was unwilling to cooperate in the manner expected. "When is the last time you heard from your brother?"

David swallowed uneasily as he glanced at the nearest barrel and then back to Cale. "About eight years ago."

"Why haven't you spoken since?"

"The last time we saw each other," he started to pick up the ability to speak more clearly now, perhaps grasping onto the hope that if he answered all of these questions his life would be spared, "he was drunk off his rocker and he punched me in front of a client."

Cale chuckled. "That's the John Sheppard we all know and love, isn't it?"

David seemed unsure of how to react, and looked again at the surrounding guns and their stone-faced possessors.

"Do you know where he is now?" Sternhall asked, gleefully waiting to spill the entire story of the ex-colonel.

He cleared his throat and slowly shook his head.

"Let me tell you, then," he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him and his elbows resting on his knees. "Your brother is a wanted criminal."

"That actually doesn't surprise me too much," David said emotionlessly. He seemed to be weighing his responses to appropriate what Cale wanted to hear. Like a good politician.

"Good," he grinned, reaching for his mobile. "Be a good lad and do me a favor then."

III

Silence on the other line.

A million thoughts flew through Sheppard's head. His brother would never call him for any reason whatsoever.

The only time he did communicate with him was via the Air Force – and that was to inform him of their father's death.

Whatever this was – it wasn't good.

"Dave," he said again, this time with more composure. "What's going on?"

He heard his brother breathe in a shaky breath before replying. _"He wants me to read something."_

"Who?" John asked, goose bumps rising quickly on his breath. "Who's there?"

_"Don't worry about baby brother," _the voice was David's, but the words were all wrong. _"He'll be staying here with me. Since you are coming to visit anyway, I thought we could make it a reunion. Don't forget to bring Rodney McKay. I miss him terribly."_

"Who are you?" he hissed through his teeth. Though he already knew the answer, he longed to hear the coward reply in his own voice.

_"If I grow tired of his company, I'll arrange for his leave with the most comfortable of transports," _he spoke again, seeming to completely ignore Sheppard's questions. _"I am difficult to entertain for long, Colonel Sheppard."_

The use of his old rank was to spite him, he knew. But truly only Cale Sternhall would remember the same ploy used by Aiden Ford back on New Athos from watching the secret footage.

"Where are you?!" he demanded, though he knew he would not get an answer.

Sure enough, in reply, the phone was hung up.

"David!" he shouted in desperation. "God damn it, David!"

But the line was dead.

He threw the phone across the room, causing it to disappear into one of the stacks of ammunition.

Dropping to the ground, John buried his head in his hands as he recalled his earlier victorious thought. But now it was recalled with bitter remorse as he remembered all that was left of the Sheppard clan.

_I have a family._

III

Lorne glanced over at the woman seated opposite of him.

She was not a prisoner but she was also not to be out of his sight.

Teyla was an essential part of the team, as much as she seemed to not want to be. For the only thing that made her integral was her relationship with their target. Undoubtedly, that would be exploited for the good of the cause.

He knew, they all knew it, and most importantly, _she _knew it.

Evan could almost see the internal struggle going on within her mind as she stared out the window. He knew that she understood what the right thing to do was but he also knew that Teyla loved John fiercely.

Even before their relationship became romantic, the Athosian had a dedicated loyalty towards the man within the first few hours of meeting him.

Something about the two just clicked, and Lorne had seen it right away.

The rumors of their friendship being more than met the eye while on the base had flooded through the halls and had been pondered so intensely that it was almost brought to the IOA as a concern.

But as much as they all could see the potential, there was no evidence and no possibility that either would strike up something within the confines of their professional association.

Now, however, after bringing Teyla back from the dead – more or less – it only seemed right that the two would finally pursue a romantic relationship. Nothing else seemed more natural.

But no one would have predicted that it would cause this much strife and heartache.

"Teyla," he finally spoke, leaning forward. She responded by turning her body towards him to hear. "I want you to know that, no matter what the situation, I'm not going to kill Sheppard. He's done too much for us to deserve something like that."

Perhaps that possibility hadn't yet entered her mind but she reeled back with a loud inhalation.

After recovering, she nodded and looked away. "Thank you, Evan."

But he knew that he should've kept his mouth shut.

"Lorne, can I have a word with you?" Carter stood from her seat in front of them and walked towards the cockpit.

He followed after giving Teyla an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Once they were far enough out of ear shot, she gave him the deadliest glare he'd ever seen her deliver. Then she started.

"Colonel, you know it's inappropriate to promise something like that," she said sternly. "We cannot assure her that we won't do what we have to do when it comes down to it."

Evan took in a deep breath and bit his lip as he thought about his response. He finally just decided that there could be nothing better to do than to just tell her the truth.

"Ma'am, to be honest, I don't think I could go through with it."

Carter raised her brow. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," she looked away. "Because I know that when you signed up for this, you knew that you would be making some hard decisions.

"And I'm not saying it'll be easy for me if I am the one that's burdened with it. But that doesn't mean I won't. You look out for the greater good, Colonel Lorne. Remember that."

With that, the general turned and walked back to her seat.

Evan felt as though he had gotten off good compared to what he had should have gotten – from an impromptu dress down to court martial, the possibilities were endless. Something about General Carter made her more perceptible to those types of confessions.

Lorne felt as though she wasn't reprimanding him for feeling the way he did, but rather reassuring him that it was more than just him that was having doubts. At the same time, however, she was ordering him to buck up and remember who he worked for.


	5. Skilled

Teyla may have gotten older since she last hunted on Athos, but her keen sense of hearing had not deteriorated – even after five years of captivity.

But most had forgotten that and had compared all of her senses to that of an average human.

Lorne and Carter were as clear to her as they would have been if they stood directly beside her.

In many ways, she wished she did not hear the conversation. For now, she was faced with an even more difficult choice.

Before, she had chosen her path – though it was not easy and it pained her heart. But seeing that John might not be given a chance to cooperate immediately switched her mindset to that of a dedicated lover.

She would not assist in the death of John Sheppard.

III

Ronon hadn't seen Sheppard in days. When he asked around, it turned out that no one else had either.

The makeshift curtain covering his office "door" had remained closed and everyone had respected it and did not bother him.

But Ronon was of a different breed. Whatever he was doing behind that curtain couldn't be so important that it secluded him from everyone else for the past week and a half.

Shoving the material out of the way, the Runner stalked in and looked around.

John was sitting on the ground, surrounded by empty MRE packets and intensely studying a map.

Fed up, Ronon reached over and knocked the paper out of his face.

The response was unanticipated and highly irregular.

Sheppard shot up faster than one would expect for a man his age and swung at him.

Of course, the Runner was dexterous enough to move out of the way in time and grab the smaller man by his arm and twist it up.

He pushed his old commander back onto the floor, holding his body down with his knee.

After the other man had stopped squirming and his breathing slowed to a regular rate, he loosened his grip but still maintained his position. "Want to tell me what's going on, Sheppard?"

He was wheezing at this point and Ronon let off, stepping away but staying vigilant in case John decided to have another episode.

"Sorry, you scared me," he finally said to him as he stood up and gripped the arm that had been yanked and twisted.

When he finally looked up, the Satedan could see that something was not right from his eyes.

They were red and puffy – as though he'd been _crying_.

"What's going on?" he demanded, this time a little more roughly.

"Nothing, I'm just really busy," Sheppard attempted to chuckle but it came out as more of a painful gasp. "I guess I should have let you guys know that, huh?"

Ronon narrowed his eyes at the man, feeling insulted that he would think him that stupid. "I'll give you one more chance to tell me, or you're going back on that floor."

"Don't threaten me, Chewie."

He started and John jumped back, holding his hands out. "Hey!" his tone sounded sharp and unrelenting.

Something was definitely wrong.

"What is it?" he asked for what seemed like the millionth time.

The other man glared at him. "You can't treat me like that anymore, Ronon. I'm the commander of this team."

He clicked his tongue. "Shut the hell up, Sheppard, I've known you for over ten years. I know when something's not right. So tell me – _now_!"

It was then that he finally noticed the pure illness shown on his face. John was understandably emaciated but he was also white as a ghost – he looked little different than the corpses the Runner often encountered.

Sheppard opened his pale lips to speak, and as he did, each word seemed to crush the man's spirit even more.

"He has my brother," he said with such disbelief that someone was capable of stooping so low. "He has David."

Ronon didn't remember much about John's brother, except that he had acted like an ass during their father's funeral. But he knew just as well as anyone that family was family.

"Cale?" he guessed, hoping to keep his tone steady as a sign of assurance.

He nodded and slumped to the floor once more, running his hands through his stringy hair as he stressed. "I don't know if I can save him in time."

The Satedan slowly seated himself next to his friend. They sat in silence for awhile, just resting on each other's presence, before he finally spoke.

"We'll get him," he vowed.

III

Seeing the top secret security prison definitely hadn't topped Samantha Carter's bucket list.

The building didn't serve any aesthetic purposes. It was bland and stolid-looking. It seemed to say that it was only there to serve its purpose and it didn't care that it was the ugliest, most intimidating building on the planet.

Luckily, the general wasn't there for sightseeing – which she appeared to have to remind herself – she was there to start off their search.

She second guessed her decision now – to join the team. As a general, she really wasn't required to tag along on missions any more.

But she often found that sitting at a desk and delivering orders from behind the scenes left something to be desired. Sam missed the thrill, and though they weren't stepping onto another world, she felt the yearning for adventure and purpose. However, she also knew that she would be a valuable asset to their mission. She, Teyla, and Lorne all had one thing in common – a connection with Sheppard. No other commander could claim that.

Meeting with the head warden of the institution was an interesting experience.

He was a flustered and confused man. Unlike most stereotypes, Paul Hankey was a menacing man. He was fit, well built, and unbelievably tall.

He was also unbelievably angry.

Paul didn't seem to understand how they had lost control of "one of their own" and let them "fly off the handle like that". It just wasn't "responsible" and "the Air Force seems to cause the most trouble".

Carter tried to calm the gentleman but she could quickly see that the task was futile. He was irrational and unwilling to assist in any way except to criticize.

So they left.

She pulled one of the guards aside and made him show her Gregory Eccelston's cell.

"They're still cleaning and processing it," he told her as they moved through the corridors, easily making turns as if it were the most rudimentary labyrinth in the world.

He stopped in front of a wildly busy room and all three team members peered inside to get a look at the damage Sheppard had done.

"Killed him there," the young guard offered, pointing towards a spot on the wall near the foot of the bed, "choked him to death."  
Samantha nodded, attempting to convey that they all knew the grittiest of the details. The main purpose for actually seeing the sight was to not only get it through Lorne and Teyla's heads what John had done, but also her own. Ever since the Colonel's confession, the reality of the difficult decision she might have to make began to weigh on her even more heavily.

"He was a bad man," Teyla said softly, shaking her head.

The guard readily agreed. "Really, the guy did him a favor."

Carter wanted to shake the young man. He wasn't helping her cause at all.

Seeing her loss in her maneuver, she led the way out of the compound, heading towards the trail of footprints that the investigators before them had marked off with yellow tape.

They followed the trail about a quarter of a mile into the woods before the two sets of footprints completely disappeared.

This wasn't uncommon for an ex-military fugitive. Most often, when soldiers-turned-convicts are escaping, they use the tactic of attempting to leave everything as though they had never been there. From rearranging branches to meticulously leaving undisturbed soil, these types were incredibly skilled.

Sam could see John Sheppard being adept at these sorts of things.

However, as she bent down to study the prints in more depth, she found them more peculiar than if they had simply been part of a trick.

The last two were deep-set, while the ones leading up to them were lighter. That could only mean that the owners of the footprints – McKay and Sheppard, that is – had all of their weight pressed down into the dirt when they were made.

It was almost as if they had jumped down on them. But such an action didn't make sense.

When she presented her struggle to the other team members, Lorne offered his theory. "Maybe they just stood there for awhile."

"That's hard to believe," she ruminated, staring at the tracks. "That seems like a lot more pressure than simply standing still."

Turning to Teyla, she saw wonder and understanding in the woman's eyes. The fact that she was not volunteering her ideas irritated the general, but she questioned her anyway.

The Athosian sighed and looked between both Evan and her before replying. "When Aiden had first rescued me from the Wraith compound, he had used devices he had procured that allow transportation to great distances by simply pressing a button. When that happened, I remember feeling a heavy weight upon my body as I was being moved."

Carter looked back at the footprints and weighed Teyla's theory. It seemed plausible by all accounts except for one problem.

"Where would he get those?" she asked. "The Stargate program has them locked away. And no one has been to the SGU in almost three years."

The other woman raised her brows as she continued to stare at the prints in the dirt. A smile alighted Teyla's lips that told Sam that, surely, John would find away to obtain something if he had to.

And he had.

III

To be perfectly honest, Cale was already bored.

The tedium of babysitting Little Sheppard whilst the room remained drenched in uncomfortable silence made him anxious and unruly.

He finally ordered that their guest be transported to a more comfortable room – perhaps the suite downstairs.

As they stood him up and began leading him away, David spoke out. "I don't think this is fair."

Cale chuckled. He was bored enough to entertain the man, so he bit, "how so?"

"How is he supposed to find me?" Sheppard challenged. "John's not a very smart guy. He's not going to know where I am."

He watched the man squirm beneath the grasp of two hired grunts. He wondered how the politician had so easily switched from frightened worm, to irritating house guest within a span of only four hours.

"You underestimate your brother, I think," he replied evenly. "He is smarter than you think, and he has people that are smarter than even I, I'll concede."

He received no response except for the sour expression on David's face as they led him away into the basement.

Cale looked down at his mobile and wondered if perhaps Baby Sheppard was correct.

It would truly be no fun to kill the man if there was no chance of fair play. He knew that John knew he was in England. But despite the minute size of the country, there were still several suburbs to search – of which a thorough one could take over a year to accomplish, not a time he was willing to dabble in.

He located the number he had called before and began typing a message.

III

Roma found the next few days incredibly uncomfortable.

Though she was concerned over her commander's worrisome leave of absence, she was also grateful.

Not having to interact with him given the most recent embarrassing episode was something she was truly grateful for.

Rejection aside, she had repeatedly beat herself up concerning the event over the fact that hitting on a commander was unacceptable and inappropriate in any circumstance – that included a militia-like rebel vigilante team such as theirs.

She had meant to apologize, but upon further consideration had figured it would be best to pretend as though it had never happened.

Roma knew that that was how Sheppard dealt with things anyway.

She tried going over what had caused her to go so far off the deep end with her feelings. In the end, she accepted the fact that she had simply given into temptation and the large amounts of stress that had been plaguing her lately.

She admired John just as much as the next member of _Flock_. Perhaps some of that admiration had spilled over into a more romantic nature.

Regardless, it should have been ignored.

Still, she was glad to see the commander was well enough to call a meeting together. She had been sure to sit near the back, hoping to stay out of his eyesight as he spoke.

He looked sickly, however, and not like himself.

She noticed that the new guy – the big Conan lookalike – seemed to be standing awfully close, as if he were prepared to support him physically, should his frail body fail him.

"Something has come up that requires us to put this project on double time," he announced, glaring into each face as he spoke.

A kind of reverent silence fell throughout the room. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing – Sheppard was more somber than usual and it had to be for a good reason.

Roma shifted in her seat as she thought. There was no doubt in her mind that she was going to do the best she could in this.

She had to win back Sheppard's acceptance somehow and she was convinced that this was how to do it.


	6. Tomorrow

_AN: Thanks for your patience guys! Please keep reviewing :)_

* * *

He had never once worried over his wife this much.

Sam had gone to hostile alien planets without him several times since he was reassigned from SG-1, but he felt even more anxious about her going just across the country.

Why exactly, Jack couldn't place his finger on it. He was convinced that, with all of his supernatural experiences he encountered during his years of expedition, he had obtained a sixth sense about these sorts of things. He had premonitions that were, more often than not, correct.

She had already called to check in that day. Giving him what information she could, he gathered that they were onto something but at a loss of where to go from there.

O'Neill then spent the rest of the evening trying his best to fix a problem that wasn't his.

Even so, he felt partly responsible for Sheppard – he always did. He'd basically shoved the man into the Atlantis program and bade goodbye without so much as a thumbs-up.

He hadn't really kept in contact with him, save for their sporadic meetings.

However, Jack still felt as though he knew the guy. Not very well, he'd admit, but he could see a lot of his younger self in the ex-colonel – not all of those were good attributes, unfortunately.

And so, he figured, it wouldn't be hard to pinpoint John's exact agenda.

He knew he was going after Cale, but there had to be another reason for him to fly off the handle as wildly as he had lately. Save for the imprisonment of Dr. Rodney McKay, nothing awful had seemed to happen to him since he returned from the final mission through the Stargate.

O'Neill then considered that perhaps the man just missed the sheer thrill of it.

It wasn't uncommon, he knew, for soldiers who had returned from constantly being in the heat of battle, to grow fond over the memories of such adrenaline-pumping instances. In an effort to recreate that thrill, they would purposefully seek out dangerous situations.

Some took up safer hobbies, such as dirt biking or skydiving. But others, such as Sheppard, couldn't find enough excitement in those, and so he delved into vigilante activities.

Jack could just see the man feeding off the exhilaration of having the nation's best continuously nipping at his heels.

But there was a hole in that theory.

What of Teyla and Torren?

Even in an altered mindset, John would still care and love for those two more than any other.

What in the world was going through his mind?

Finally giving up, O'Neill went to the internet.

Finding the most obvious search engine, he typed in one word: 'Sheppard'.

The most prominent of articles that were listed was one on John's brother, David.

It wasn't a government site. In fact, upon further inspection, it proved to be a conspiracy theorist's manic blog.

True or not, the information within was frightening. It spoke of the younger Sheppard's secret objectives leading towards presidency and the many corrupt companies and agencies he'd been seen interacting with.

Jack couldn't help but wonder how much Sheppard knew about his own brother.

III

She could only hope he knew where he was going.

To realize the technologies that were in his albeit capable hands only made her more frightened for his safety. Pride in his aptitude aside, Teyla became legitimately concerned in John's focus.

How far was he willing to go to attain his goal?

They were lodged in a hotel for the night, but General Carter was still tapping away at her laptop furiously.

Now that they knew of Sheppard and McKay's method of escape, there was a different route to be taken.

Colonel Lorne was standing behind her, scrutinizing her work. "What are you doing?"

Teyla recognized the frustration in Samantha's face that accompanied the need to explain everything to someone.

"If John and Rodney did use Ford's devices, we're going to have to find a better way of locating them."

"How is 'Google' going to help?" he asked skeptically.

She sighed and smiled a bit. "I'm going back to basics. I just typed in '_Flock_ hideout location'."

"And you think that's going to give you an answer?"

Carter shrugged. "It's worth a shot."

Intrigued, Teyla stood and joined Evan in looming over the general's shoulder as she surfed for answers.

Still quite new to the planet, the Athosian woman hadn't picked up on everything expertly yet. She knew how to operate a phone if need be, and a computer on rare occasions, but she often found learning to be useless and boring. She couldn't understand why the people of Earth were so in love with their machines. It seemed more like stress than relief to her.

At any rate, she was having difficulty following Samantha's movements on the device. Eventually, she opened a page and verbalized her interest.

Teyla read through the block of text and raised her brow. "This man claims to know the location of the _Flock_ headquarters. And he is willing to share the information for an unnamed price? Forgive me if I believe it to be unreasonably convenient."

"It does seem too good to be true," Evan agreed, looking between the two women.

"_As an ex-member of the team, I am fully knowledgeable of any and all secrets of the vigilantes known as _Flock_,_" Carter read aloud. "I'll admit it seems dubious, but we're at a dead end here. It couldn't hurt to check."

"Are we really so much at a loss that we're resorting to Craigslist to find informants?" Lorne's increasingly irritated method of questioning was beginning to grate on Teyla's nerves.

The general just ignored him and quickly typed up an email to the contact.

Within two minutes there was a reply.

"We'll meet him tomorrow," Samantha announced as Teyla was beginning to climb into one of the beds.

"Good old Craigslist," Evan muttered as he turned over on the couch.

III

His hand brushed against hers. He flinched away but she didn't.

"Weir wanted me to check on how you were doing," he said with a hint of disgust in his voice. He didn't see why it was his job to comfort the new recruits. Why couldn't someone like Carson do this?

The blonde woman turned to smile at him regardless.

I threw him off guard to say the least. He found himself smiling back, barely hearing a word she said in response.

But then her smile disappeared. Her face suddenly began to age, relentlessly. Wrinkles deepened into her soft skin and her eyes drooped sadly.

She got older and older. Reaching out, she grabbed a hold of his jacket, screaming out in terror and pain.

He could not do anything.

Wasting away as her age increased, she was soon nothing but dust. The room was now empty, save for him.

"Wake up, you moron," a gruff voice demanded.

The scientist awoke with a start.

Looking around, Rodney discovered that he had fallen asleep during his research. His task of inventing a way to break through the possible security that might be surrounding whatever stronghold Cale was hiding away in was not only tedious, but extremely difficult.

Granted, McKay had had years to sleep away the day. But the most recent push for harder, faster work had forced him to stretch out his day and limit his sleeping hours.

It reminded him of his life on Atlantis.

But that dream had shaken him. He hadn't dreamt of Jennifer in over a year.

He thought of her every day, of course, but nightmares had been another story.

"Sorry," he turned to see Ronon standing over him with a questioning look.

"You getting any sleep?" he asked.

McKay smirked. "Do I ever?"

The Runner nodded and shrugged as if to agree with his rhetorical question. Wandering around the makeshift laboratory, he eventually sat down on a table, crunching a pile of papers beneath him.

Rodney glanced at the destruction but opted not to mention it as he returned his attention to his work.

"How do you think Cale got a hold of Sheppard's brother?" the other man asked.

Sighing, the scientist clenched his fists. "I don't know why you'd think I'd know the answer to that."

Ignoring his snapping, he went on. "This guy's targeting him for some reason. How come he isn't trying to get at you?"

McKay clenched his jaw. "I don't know," he said slowly, his anger building.

There was silence for a bit. But it was broken with Ronon's voice once more.

"Seems like he's kind of taking the hits for you, huh?"

Burying his face in his hands, he sighed again, but this time, it wasn't out of frustration.

"He does that a lot."

III

_ Maybe it's a sign,_ he thought ruefully.

David had to admit, he never imagined himself in a position like this. Even after slipping into the political pool, he didn't think it would ever come to this. Maybe God or some other force of nature was trying desperately to keep him off that path.

At first he was, naturally, scared off his ass. But after awhile, he'd come to accept his fate – whatever that may be – and try to think logically through his captivity.

John was involved. That much had been made clear with the forced phone call. To be perfectly honest, however, he wasn't surprised.

He knew his older brother was caught up in some shady business – ever since he joined the Air Force, he'd been distant, a more than obvious sign of secret business. It had always bothered him too.

From the time of their father's funeral, the tension between them had grown exponentially.

When he had finally resigned from the military, David had invited him over to his business and offered him a job – something he thought was not only kind of him but even commendable, considering John had skills in little else than flying.

So, naturally, it had surprised him when he turned it down.

Upon further pressing as to why he declined such a fantastic opportunity, David could only glean that his brother was unnecessarily proud.

He told his brother that without this job, his life wouldn't go anywhere else. He was the military – he had no further identity than that. He had to start somewhere and nobody else would hire someone as unskilled as an ex-colonel.

He had a suspicion that John was inebriated from the moment he arrived, but his assumption had proved correct when he found himself on the floor, blood pouring from his cracked nose.

David wasn't above filing charges against his own brother. He figured he needed a lesson anyhow. And if a lawsuit wasn't enough of a wake-up call, he didn't know what was.

Eventually, however, it had proven far too much work to actually get John to come to the hearings. Out of pure irritation, he finally dropped the charges and moved on with his life, doing nothing else except request a restraining order.

He didn't think his brother would ever try to come near him, but it was the principle of the thing. Once again, he needed to learn a lesson.

Now, David couldn't help but feel as though he was learning a lesson that John should have been experiencing.

In all his secretive endeavors, he highly doubted John had ever been in a situation akin to the one he was in now. He doubted he ever paid the price for anything.

As the hours passed in his captivity – being locked within a small room with nothing but an eighty-year-old spring bed – his resentment grew.

John would never come, he began to think. Why would he?


	7. Wrong

"I can't do this anymore," Lorne growled, leaning forward on the park bench and burying his face in his hands. "This guy is obviously a fluke. He's not going to show up."

"Patience, Colonel," Carter replied tepidly, keeping an eye out for their informant.

"He said he'd meet us at three," he said tersely. "It's almost five."

Samantha tried to gain her composure by breathing in and out deeply. Colonel Lorne had been testing her patience the entire mission.

He was grumpy, whiny, not to mention outright disrespectful at times.

Carter was not only had a right to dress the man down, but was also required to at this point.

But she was reluctant. The mission was very personal to all of them, and causing a lot of strain and stress.

Still, Evan was acting like anything but an obedient officer. She made a mental note to allow him one more chance to shape up on his own before she cracked down.

"What was his description that he gave us?" Teyla asked, breaking the tension.

Carter turned towards the woman, who was sitting next to Lorne on the bench.

"He said, and I quote, 'I will be wearing a red baseball cap and khaki slacks'" she sighed, looking down at the email she had printed out.

"Did we give him a description of us?" she asked.

Samantha smiled sheepishly. "I told him to look for a blonde woman wearing a trench coat."

"He thinks you're alone," the colonel surmised.

"I figured it would be more comfortable for him if he didn't know there would be a group questioning him."

He chuckled. "What's your story?"

"I'm a journalist," she turned to him, pulling out the disposable camera from her bag. "You're my photographer."

Colonel Lorne looked at the camera skeptically. Sam handed Teyla a notepad. "You're my assistant."

"And there's our story," Lorne said under his breath.

Carter turned to see a man matching the description stalking up the walk.

She went ahead and motioned for the two to follow close behind.

Once she was within view, the man suddenly looked dubious. Attempting to calm him, the general waved and flashed a smile.

He stood completely still.

"I thought you were alone," he said sourly, casting a glance at her comrades.

"This is my photographer," she motioned, "and my assistant."

He took off his sunglasses, revealing a rather ugly scar embedded across his left eyeball. Reaching out, he shook her hand. "Ed Brennan."

"Lisa," she greeted. "And this is Jeremy and Olivia."

"Nice to meet you," he said, barely glancing at either of them. He looked down at the camera Lorne was holding. "How are you going to get any good shots with that? I thought newspapers had those professional cameras."

Samantha quickly dug for an explanation. "We're trying not to be too conspicuous."

Ed narrowed his eyes. "What was the name of the newspaper you work for again?"

"The Daily Bugle," Evan blurted. Carter closed her eyes and bowed her head.

They were done. Anyone could recognize the_ Superman_ reference.

Slowly, he began walking backwards. When Sam tried to reach out for him, he took off.

The three went after him, pushing past people as they attempted to keep up with the man.

For someone who looked as though they had lived a fairly sedentary lifestyle, Brennan was awfully quick.

It took a full three minutes before Lorne had finally tackled the man to the ground.

The general was greatly surprised and slightly worried by the way people around them reacted. They all continued walking as though they didn't see someone in distress. Sam was grateful, but she was also perfectly willing to show her identification to any Good Samaritan.

"Who are you people?!" Ed shouted beneath Colonel Lorne's hold.

"We just need to ask you a few questions," he tried to reassure the man, but he was already wailing loudly.

Without much fuss from witnesses, the three escorted their new friend back to their hotel room for a casual interrogation.

III

_"Sleep is for the weak!"_

John remembered that awful creed from his drill sergeant. Basic Training didn't allow for even the minimum required hours at that time, and when flights were having a tough time staying awake during drills, that wasn't an uncommon method of encouragement among many of their TIs.

Despite the obvious absurdity in that statement, Sheppard realized that he couldn't help but to think of it whenever his mind would fail him because of a lack of a few hours of unconsciousness.

He did feel vulnerable and weak for needing something such as sleep.

But as he finally collapsed onto his padded bed of straw, rested his head onto his crumpled jacket, he could hardly find it in himself to care.

His rest was assaulted with nightmares, however, of Teyla, Torren, and David.

In one particular dream, his dead father even made an appearance. Not surprisingly, he was there to scold and reprimand.

John felt small and insignificant. When he looked down at himself, he saw that he was, in fact, tiny – a small child, perhaps around the age of seven or eight – around when his mother had died.

That was when Sheppard no longer had the option of having feelings, emotions, or anything of the like. Patrick Sheppard had tough boys who did not cry and most certainly, were never _ever_ unhappy.

He'd always been charged with the safety and protection of his younger brother. That had only ended in middle school when David finally made it clear that he no longer needed his mediocre, no-good brother to be around.

John didn't protest. He feigned happiness from the release of the burden. But really, he was hurt that he was no longer needed.

That was when he made the decision to join the Air Force. If his father and his brother didn't need him, he'd join something where he could be of use somehow.

Sheppard fought a lot in those nightmares.

He fought Wraith, he fought Kolya, and he even fought Ronon and Teyla. But when it came time for a round with David, his brother refused to fight back. He only stared at him, his eyes blazing with fury, but his fists remained at his sides.

This frustrated John to no end.

Why wouldn't he fight?

III

"I still don't think I did anything wrong," Evan shrugged, glancing at the damaged Brennan tied to a chair.

Teyla glared at him. "It is enough that we are kidnapping him but to use excessive violence was unnecessary."

Lorne scoffed and turned away.

Carter pushed the two apart as she made her way towards their guest. "Ed, we're not going to hurt you."

"Then why am I tied up like an animal?" he demanded, seething with anger.

Thinking about it for a minute, Samantha then reached over and untied the knots that bound Ed's hands together.

He pulled them away as soon as they were free and rubbed his sore wrists.

Before anyone could say another word, she handed the man the agreed upon sum of money – a simple $300.

"I can't believe that's all you asked for," she said lightly.

He took the money and glared at her. "I had to lower it when I wasn't getting any offers. Everyone thought I was a fraud."

"Are you?" the colonel asked.

Brennan shifted uneasily. Sam could tell that Lorne's presence would be a problem.

"Colonel, keep watch outside," she ordered. The man looked reluctant but obeyed.

"Colonel?" Ed repeated. "Who are you people?"

"That's not important," she replied. "You got your money now tell us what you know about _Flock_."

"More importantly," Teyla interjected. "_How_ do you know about _Flock_?"

Shrugging, Brennan suddenly looked sullen. "I worked for them for about a year."

Samantha and Teyla exchanged glances before turning back to him.

"What happened?" Carter asked.

She watched as he ground his teeth before answering.

"That damned Sheppard didn't like that I was blogging about our progress."

The general raised her brow. "That's understandable."

"No, it isn't," he snapped. "I never mentioned _Flock_ anywhere in the blog – it was a page dedicated strictly to science and the technology I used to work with during a project.

"No matter though, he still overreacted," he sighed, pointing to his disfigured eye. "That's how I earned this. The guy's off his rocker."

Sam heard Teyla inhale deeply behind her. She knew it would be difficult to hear some of these things that Ed was telling them.

But so far, General Carter believed him.

"Do you still have the blog?" she asked hopefully.

He snorted. "Of course I don't. Sheppard had the next sniveling scientist in line behind me destroy every trace of it. I suppose it doesn't matter. That friend of his we were trying to rescue would have replaced me anyhow."

"McKay," Sam said aloud.

Brennan pointed to her and nodded. "Yeah, something like that."

"Ed," she leaned closer. "I need you to tell me exactly what you were doing for Sheppard and _Flock._"

"I did a lot," he said nonchalantly. "But the most recent thing I was working on was breaking into the security system at the prison we were planning on raiding. Did that ever happen by the way?"

"It did," Carter sighed. "How did you bypass the –

"Perhaps our time is better spent asking Mr. Brennan where _Flock_ is located," Teyla interrupted once again.

Samantha smiled, embarrassed. Often, her geeky self made an appearance in the most inconvenient of times. After being on SG-1 with Jack for eight years, she eventually learned how to quell it – most of the time.

Ed seemed all too eager to give them the exact location. "That is, if they haven't moved since they kicked me to the curb. I doubt they would, though. I don't think they know how angry I am."

III

"I want to say how much I admire your courage."

The response to that statement was a rather unkind version of "kindly leave".

Cale shook his head and smiled. "You know you're not angry with me, David."

"Oh, really?" he chuckled darkly. "Who is it that is holding me in here then? I'd really like to know."

"Come have something to eat," he invited instead of acknowledging the sarcastic, biting comment. "You must be starving."

"What's the point? You're going to kill me."

"Not for awhile now," he assured. "I'm still enjoying your company. But if you refuse to cooperate, I may grow tired of you faster."

It seemed as though Little Sheppard had given up on all of his excuses to not eat with such a detestable man as his captor and finally agreed.

Proudly, Cale showed David the dining hall. The size was equivalent to that of a ball room. His entire house was fashioned around the time period when such rooms were actually used.

He motioned to a chair and his guest sat complacently.

"As I was saying," Cale went on, placing the napkin in his lap, "I admire your courage."

"What are you talking about?" his tone was still bitter and unwelcoming.

He smiled at the man. "You haven't once pleaded for your life. I admire that about my victims."

David stopped halfway through his glass of water to stare at him. "How many have there been?"

"Only about a dozen," he replied, reaching for the entrée. "None of them have I actually prepared a meal for though, so consider yourself special."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sheppard said evenly, as though he were struggling to keep down a terrified scream.

An awkward silence passed before Cale spoke up again. "I want to make you a proposition."

"No," was the quick reply.

He placed down his silverware. "You haven't even –

"I'm guessing that you, being a criminal who acquired his wealth from god-knows-where, want to join forces with me, not only because of my political connections in the US, but also because you seem to delight in the fact that I am, unfortunately, directly linked to John."

"It is delighting," Cale admitted, grinning as he sipped his wine. "But tell me, what is it that isn't appealing to you?"

"Everything," David said bitterly, stabbing his food with his fork, all the while making eye contact. "I don't want to work with you."

"You have no idea what I am about or what kind of alliance I am suggesting."

"You are eerily obsessed with my brother – and you kidnapped me. Not to mention that phone call you forced me to make."

"That was all for show," Cale threw out his hands in innocence. "And how can you not blame me for wanting to know your brother's business? Don't tell me you aren't desperately curious."

Baby Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "Of course I am. But he keeps insisting that he can't tell me what he's been up to."

"What if I told you everything he has been involved with – perhaps even showed you some of it?"

David laughed and returned his attention to his plate. "You don't know anything about John."

"On the contrary," he snickered. "I believe I know more about John Sheppard than he does about himself."

The look that flashed across his face let Cale know that he had intrigued the man.


	8. Forgotten Fantasy

_AN: Thank you for being so patient, lovely readers! I hope you are enjoying the story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please don't forget to leave a review - I'd love to know what you're all thinking :)_

* * *

A plane flew overhead, stopping all three of them dead in their tracks.

It had been years since any of them had last heard the dreadful sound of a Dart but it was a habit and an instinct instilled inside them that would never dissipate.

They all looked at each other but didn't say a word. A plane on Earth sounded nothing like a Wraith Dart, but for some reason, their brains connected the two without much trouble.

"These directions are a little difficult to follow," Samantha broke the silence, looking down at the sheet of paper Ed Brennan had given them.

"I'd bet money they're worthless," Lorne sighed.

Ed had refused to tag along. The last thing he wanted to do was get captured by his old team and be, more than likely, promptly executed. All he needed was his $300 and to be on his way.

"It says to walk twenty clicks north," she said, sitting down to study the paper better. "And we've been doing that all day. So far, I haven't seen a single lake."

Before either of the others could say a word, a shot rang out.

All three dropped to the ground immediately.

After making sure none of them had gotten hit, Sam tried to figure out where the shot had come from.

She motioned to Lorne that she was going to crawl towards the big oak in front of them. He nodded and pointed to a similar one about five meters away.

Teyla followed Carter.

Once she made it to the tree, she carefully slid her back up it and prepared herself.

Peeking out just slightly, she caught sight of a figure yielding a rifle, and looking directly at her.

She only missed the second bullet by a millisecond when she whirled back around.

Making eye contact with the colonel, she nodded in the direction of the shooter.

He nodded and pulled out his nine millimeter.

With the gunman concentrated on Samantha's location, Lorne was able to spot him without being noticed himself.

It didn't take long before Lorne expertly incapacitated the enemy, only needing to shoot once to hit the target in the leg.

Evan sprinted towards him, quickly kicking the rifle out of arm's reach and pressing his gun into the other man's forehead.

Once the other two caught up, Samantha quickly ascertained that this man was a part of _Flock_, the dead giveaway being the "secret" insignia of an ohm stitched onto the collar of his faded BDU jacket.

"_Flock_," she said aloud, she looked directly at the man, who was squirming in pain. "Where's Sheppard?"

He grabbed his wounded leg and spat in her face.

In response, Lorne tackled the man, pinning him down to the ground.

"Colonel!" Teyla shouted in protest.

Suddenly, another man popped up from the earth. Looking carefully, Sam saw that he was peeking up from a hidden door in the ground. When he saw his comrade on the ground and the three strangers surrounding him, he quickly disappeared again, slamming the entrance behind him.

Evan was already on it, attempting to catch the door before it was locked.

But he was too late.

The sound of commotion beneath them was deafening.

"They're gone," their gunman chuckled darkly.

General Carter ground her teeth as she listened to her mission scurry away like a flock of frightened sheep.

III

Her lip trembled. She smelled that scent that drove her senses wild.

_Humans._

_Sustenance. _

She was only graced with the small beings' presence once in a while. It was usually when the one who kept her captive wanted to gloat or just stare at her in wonder.

He often tried to question her but she never responded. She would not entertain his primal curiosity.

Indeed she did smell his scent but she also sensed another – new, warm, younger, flesh – many more years from which to feed.

Her usual meals came from older, sickly ones – ones with, if any, only a few years left to satisfy her hunger.

It was never enough – just sufficient to keep her alive, but with a painful appetite.

She saw them appear and she hissed from her cage.

The familiar one lit up the room and she hissed again, this time from the sting that met her eyes from the artificial light source.

The other one looked frightened and confused. "This is…one of them?"

"Beautiful, isn't she? I keep her well-fed but yet she refuses to speak."

The younger one came closer, looking at her with the same stringent curiosity that infuriated her. "Can she speak?"

With the closeness, she could begin to smell him better. There was something in his scent that seemed recognizable.

"I've been told they can communicate with us," the older one replied. "My sources tell me they speak perfectly well. I think she's just stubborn. No amount of torture has encouraged her."

She hissed again at the memory of the electric rods placed at her sides as he had continually ordered her to say something. But she had endured far worse pains in her life and still refused.

"Why won't she?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps she still believes she is still royalty."

"Royalty?"

"She's a queen," he explained. "The Wraith operate on a hive mentality. She commanded an entire hive ship."

The new one shook his head in wonder. "How did you get her?"

Her enemy chuckled. "You seem to forget, Sheppard, I'm very –

_"Sheppard!"_ she exclaimed, the name evoking all kinds of memories within her. She recalled the face that matched, slaughtering her brood. But this face was not that of the Sheppard she remembered.

The two humans jumped back in surprise.

"The beast speaks," the older one murmured.

But she did not care about him. She remained focused on the younger one who shared the name of the destroyer of her kind. Coming as close as she could to the end of her confinement without receiving the electric jolt, she stared into his eyes. They were the same, yet not.

_"You share his blood," _she licked her lips. _"Tell me; are you family?"_

"You know John?" he asked, attempting to seem at ease as he placed his tiny hands on his hips.

She laughed. _"I know Colonel Sheppard very well. You are brothers?"_

He seemed reluctant to confirm her assumption but nodded affirmatively. "How do you know him?"

_"He killed our caretaker, awaking our kind prematurely from our slumber – in turn, killing us all without cause –_

"Don't lie, you naughty girl," the older one scolded. "Tell the truth."

She growled but did not speak.

"You and your kind feed on humans," he narrowed his eyes, feigning bravery as he neared her. "Don't pretend you and your lot didn't deserve the treatment you received. You're monsters."

_"And who are you to determine that?"_ she hissed angrily. _"We only do what we must to survive. Meanwhile, you kidnap us, torture us, experiment with us, and release your mutants into the universe to wreak more havoc than we ever could."_

The Sheppard looked at him in shock and demanded an explanation.

"That Atlantis expedition led some questionable research on the Wraith kind," he surmised, waving a hand. "It's a long story."

_"Where is your brother?"_ she turned to the young one, impatient with the idle chatter.

"What do you want with him?" he asked skeptically.

She grinned. _"Only to make up for lost time."_

III

It had been six months since they were forced to escape their compound.

Deciding then to move the operation along, the team relocated to England, spreading out into different townhouses in sporadic towns.

They knew Cale was within the country. It was a good as time as any to begin the search.

Sheppard sat on the edge of his bed. It was 0400 but he was awake.

Nightmares had been plaguing him relentlessly. That night's theme had been Teyla and Torren – held hostage by Kolya and the Genii.

He wondered how they were. He hoped they weren't worrying, though he knew such a thing was not possible. Teyla always worried and Torren always cried.

John struggled with himself now.

His father was never a good role model and he was always so quick to blame him for his choices resulting in his terrible childhood. But was he any better?

Of course, Torren was not his flesh and blood but he was more of a dad to him than his Athosian father ever was – granted, his untimely death had made that a bit difficult.

He was "daddy" to the little guy. And he loved him more than he ever thought possible.

Then why was he so easily able to leave not only him behind but also his mother, whom he had thought was dead and had thus developed numerous psychological problems over, no more than four years ago?

He leaned forward and gripped his shoulder. _My priorities are screwed up_.

There was a knock on the door.

Before he could even grant entrance, Ronon strode through.

After living together for the past six months, the Satedan had begun to forget all codes of decorum and privacy.

John grabbed a shirt and pulled it over. "What's the point of knocking?" he asked, looking to what his friend held.

"Letter," he said simply, handing it to him.

Sheppard raised his brow.

They didn't get mail. No one knew they were there except for other _Flock_ members – and even then they were forbidden from communicating via traceable methods.

Ronon shrugged in response to his confusion.

He flipped on the light and turned the envelope over in his hand. The handwritten address was flowing and neat. He noticed that it was addressed specifically to him – in his full name: John Reagan Sheppard.

No one knew his full name – save for his one living family member, David.

At that, he tore it open. Something fell out as he opened the written letter.

Ronon bent to pick it up and John read the note aloud: "I am growing impatient."

"Sheppard," his friend's voice sounded uneasy.

He looked up and saw that he was handing him whatever had fallen out of the envelope.

After taking it, John realized that it was a photograph.

When he turned it over, he saw the picture of his brother standing on a chair, his neck encircled with a noose.

III

Teyla watched the flat from across the street. Every day she would come to the paper stand, buy one, and pretend to read it on the bench, so that she could just be near him.

They had known where he was living for about a month. In that time she was both relieved and anxious. Not wanting to spark another grand relocation, the three had remained silent observers as they settled into their own flat, awaiting the right time to make their move.

The only thing she wanted was to just see his face.

But from what they could tell, John hadn't left the apartment – at least not during the day when Teyla was permitted to leave hers.

She longed to lay eyes on him once again, just to know that he wasn't a faded memory or a forgotten fantasy.

However, she couldn't help but wonder if he felt even an inkling of what she was feeling. She wondered if he missed his son too.

Teyla called Jennifer every night – just to hear his little voice ramble on and on about his day.

He wasn't used to being away from her for so long. Ever since their captivity when he was very young, being away from each other was extremely strenuous on their psyches.

But he was being a good boy for Aunt Jenny. He went to school, he did his homework, and he even helped her with chores once in awhile.

Yet he was in constant perplexity as to his mother's absence. He couldn't understand why she was gone for so long.

She tried to explain in the simplest terms, but that only seemed to illicit an even more terrible question: Where was Daddy?

While it broke her heart, it also infuriated her. Teyla knew John couldn't imagine the turmoil he had put his family through – but she would be sure to tell him when she was finally able to slap him across the face.


	9. Structure

_AN: First off, let me apologize for the HUGE intervals between chapters. I'm struggling to finish out my last year of high school to say the least. _

_But secondly, I'd like to say that I appreciate all the reviews and PMs but I'm afraid I won't be replying to PM questions about the story anymore. If you are confused in any way, try to stick around until the end and then I will be perfectly willing to answer questions. For now, I have too many in my inbox to try and appease with explanations that are quite tedious to myself and would be to you as well if I were to attempt to put them into words. _

_For now, please enjoy the story :) I am trying my best and I do know that some of you do not appreciate my version of Sheppard in this instance. Please note that this is purely my interpretation of how he would react to circumstances. Obviously none of this is canon so try not to take offense to my "stingy portrayal" :)_

_Thanks!_

* * *

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Rodney stammered as the bloodshot eyes of John seemed to pierce him upon entry. He had let himself in but he hadn't known he and Ronon would be in – what looked like – such intense conversation.

He felt as though something horrible had happened and he couldn't help but ask what was going on.

"We have to find Cale," Sheppard said simply, waving a piece of paper at him. "No more researching, no more surveying – we need to find him _now._"

McKay had learned to gauge his friend's level of rage incredibly well. He knew John was angry – so angry, in fact, that he was being completely irrational. There was no way they could find their target _at that instant_. But something horrible must have happened to draw out such panic from the former colonel.

"We're doing our best, John."

Those were the only "comforting" words the scientist could think to say. After the fact, however, he wished for the physical gratification of wedging his foot in his mouth. Sheppard didn't seem soothed at all.

His eyes were suddenly ablaze and Rodney flinched under the impending wrath of his words.

However, Ronon seemed to be his knight in shining armor for the day and clasped a strong hand on Sheppard's shoulder, hiding the reality of having to hold him back from beating the snot out of McKay.

"Why don't you take a walk, Sheppard?" he suggested in a soft yet firm tone. "It'll do you some good."

They all shared a knowing look. No one was supposed to be strolling down the street in daylight. It was too dangerous.

But they all seemed to acknowledge the bending of the rules for John's favor.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, grabbing his jacket and heading out without another word.

The door slammed behind him and Rodney looked to Ronon for an explanation.

"He's getting to him, I think," the Satedan clarified through narrowed eyes, "maybe he misses Teyla."

He clenched his jaw and glared at the Runner. "I wish you two would just tell me what the hell is going on. You know I hate being left out of things."

"This isn't about you, McKay," Ronon's tone suddenly took a different turn and the scientist respectfully backed away.

III

"You can take that off now, if you like."

David hurriedly removed the noose from around his neck and backed away from the scene. "Was that totally necessary?"

Cale smiled as he double checked the photo before giving the go-ahead to the butler to seal it in the envelope with his note. He looked up at his guest. "I know I've never properly met your brother, but I have a feeling he's a bit sentimental. This photograph will surely tug at those taut heart strings."

Baby Sheppard shook his head. "He still doesn't know where I am. What is he supposed to do?"

"Fume," he grinned. "And don't worry, David. He may not know where we are, but I've been keeping close tabs on him."

III

Teyla was a bit in shock when she saw him emerge.

It was like something from a dream. His entire image was surreal and fantastic.

Gripping the edge of the bench to keep herself from jumping up and shouting his name, she watched in pain as he hustled down the busy sidewalk.

_He's upset._

The hunched over stance, the hurried pace – he was not only upset, he was angry.

She wondered what had happened. And she wanted nothing more than to make it better – or at least tell him it would get that way.

Now realizing how quickly her anger at him had dissipated, Teyla decided to follow him.

They were supposed to keep watch on _Flock _movements. Sheppard was most certainly a part of _Flock_. She had just happened to be nearby when the leader himself left to take a walk.

Teyla kept a good distance between them – not too far away to lose him in the hundreds of people, but enough that he couldn't hear the suppressed sniffles she continued to emit.

In her complete focus, she was suddenly rudely awakened back into reality when two large men pushed past her, knocking back a couple meters.

She watched them as they moved swiftly on ahead.

Her heart stopped when she saw them deftly grab each of Sheppard's arms, leading him away, out of the crowd.

III

It would be a lie to say it was surprising. John was almost one hundred percent certain something awful would happen to him the moment he stepped outside the doors of his proverbial fortress.

However, he still did – knowing full well of the risks involved.

Sheppard feared he might have snapped Rodney's neck if he hadn't left the premises. The pressure had all been too much.

That much stress mixed in with some serious cabin fever was enough to break a man.

But now he feared that phrase might become all too real in not too long.

No one said a word as he seemed to float into the backseat of a conventional parallel-parked black SUV.

It was only after the vehicle began to drive away that he remarked on the irritating cliché.

His humor was not appreciated. One of the brutes delivered a quick strike to his face and then demanded, in a horribly thick French accent, to be quiet.

John lifted a hand to his bruised face and checked for any further injuries. Relieved, he soon discovered that the giant had probably not put all of his strength into that swing and therefore still had the facial structure akin to that of a human.

Looking around, he tried to gain as much information about his predicament as he could. The two men engaged in a casual conversation. Sheppard suddenly wished he had taken that French class back in high school – he might have been able to glean a little bit as to what the hell was going on.

No doubt these were Cale's men. While the US government was still looking for him, as intently and unrelenting as a bloodhound, they would never stoop so low as to hire someone as French as these comrades.

He tried to get a good look at the driver, but he was fairly well hidden. He never turned his face, not even to check his blind spot, Sheppard noticed.

A full hour had passed as they navigated through London. John had tried to keep track of landmarks and turns but it was obvious that the driver was taking the most winding way possible to throw him off.

It worked. Sheppard couldn't tell where he was anymore.

A phone rang. His new friend picked it up and answered in English.

After a moment of silence while whoever was on the other line chattered on, he turned to look at John a minute before saying "hold on, I will ask him".

Holding the phone to his shoulder, the brute asked him casually how he liked his steak done.

"Boss wants to know," he said gruffly.

"And 'Boss' meaning Cale, right?"

The man said nothing, he simply waited.

"Medium-rare," he shrugged, deciding not to entertain Cale by questioning such an audacious question.

He wasn't even sure he would be able to stomach a meal with this man.

III

Her heart raced as she grabbed a cab and ordered him to follow the vehicle that was quickly peeling out into traffic.

Teyla implored the cabby to drive faster but he patiently told her that he was truly going as fast as he could and that he would certainly try his best.

Darkness had fallen since they had been navigating through the busy streets, trying to keep an eye on their target. They had already lost them twice but had not since.

"It's getting very late, ma'am," the driver told her. "I'm off in less than twenty minutes."

"Please," she begged. "They kidnapped someone very special to me. I need to know where they are taking him."

"Have you called 999?" he became urgent and Teyla wished she had not shared the sensitive information. "I'm not licensed to chase down criminals!"

She pleaded but he was suddenly incredibly torn as to whether or not he should pull over and call the authorities himself or continue on their way.

The woman slipped him another stash of those papers Evan and Samantha had given her that were of so much value to the people of earth. It seemed to be enough to convince him to continue to stay on track with John and his captors.

The SUV suddenly halted at the side of the road. Teyla ordered the driver to pull off at a distance.

She watched helplessly as they hauled Sheppard out of the vehicle and dragged him into another car and drove away.

Everything was so befuddling to Teyla but they continued after them anyway.

Finally, they made it into a suburb – a wealthy one by the looks of it. The driver kept a safe distance until the vehicle stopped in front of a large gate.

She told the cabby to drive slowly by while she burned the location into her memory.

Just before they were out of sight, she saw John's face watching her through the window.

III

"Ask me one more time and you'll become part of that wall."

Though his threats were dark, McKay had learned not to take them to heart.

Ronon was like a giant teddy bear. He didn't even look scary to the scientist anymore.

"John is my best friend and I'm just as much a part of this mission as you –

"Drop it!" he shouted, standing up and leaving the room.

The fact that he was getting too upset to argue anymore translated as a good sign for Rodney. His countenance was fading. He'd break soon.

"Please," he followed him into the kitchen, watching him grab a jar of pickles from the refrigerator.

"I said no," the Runner glared at him and then took a fistful of pickles. Jamming them into his mouth, he continued to glare at McKay.

"That's disgusting," he couldn't help but mutter. He looked at the clock and pondered how many hours Sheppard had been out and about.

"It's a bit late," he said aloud. "He's been gone for four hours."

"He needs his time," Ronon shot back, slipping the jar back into the fridge and shoving past him. "He'll come back when he wants to."

"We have to consider the possibility that he got into trouble," Rodney insisted. "We've got more than one person out there just drooling to get their hands on him."

He looked thoughtful for a moment. McKay knew the Satedan was stubborn but he also knew that there was no one more fiercely devoted to the ex-colonel than Ronon. He was John's loyal German Shepherd – his protector and friend. If there was a chance that he was in danger, there was no way the Runner would just dismiss it.

Finally, he relented and walked out the door. "I'll be back," he called out.

III

Everything was a bit fuzzy since one of the brutes about knocked his head in.

He did recall changing vehicles, however, and then he remembered Teyla for some reason. Not a memory, but actually seeing her, but when or how he couldn't recall.

John felt the blood running down his face as he was yanked back and forth until they eventually were inside a mansion of a house.

Still having trouble focusing, it took him a moment until he discovered a man standing not two inches in front of his face.

Blinking rapidly, he stepped back. "Do the British just not have a sense of boundaries or what?"

Expecting another swat at the head for attempting to lighten the situation with some humor, Sheppard was surprised to see a smile twitch at the other man's lips.

"You're amusing," he remarked, looking him up and down, "I must say you certainly do reach the expectations I had about you."

"And what are those?" John asked, his words still slurring together and his mind still racing to try to place a name to the face.

The man grinned wider and began strolling in a circle around him. Sheppard suddenly became very aware of the fact that no strong arm was forcing him to stand anymore. Instead, his unbalanced stance was all he had to keep standing up straight.

The room was already spinning, and this man seemed to make it spin even faster.

"That you were absurdly courageous," he started, his voice seeming to emanate from all different directions, "that you were stunningly humorous in the most inappropriate situations, and most importantly –

He felt a whisper tickle his ear as the last part was uttered: - you're one sentimental bloke."

John shook his head and tried to focus.

The room began spinning faster as he asked. "Who are you?"

The man appeared in front of him now as he leaned in to whisper into his other ear. "I'm the one you've been looking for."

Suddenly, the speed of the circles around his head appeared to take off at an impossible velocity. Unable to withstand it any longer, he fell backwards.

He had one last thought before he closed his eyes, one that he wanted to voice into words but the incapability of his mind did not allow him to.

_Cale._


	10. Right Mind

Cale Sternhall was livid.

He couldn't believe the audacity those two French idiots had to abuse their hostage during transport. It wasn't their right and he had specifically instructed them to bring him "in one piece".

And now that his personal doctor that was tending to the unconscious John Sheppard was saying that the concussion was critical, Cale felt as though it was only right that the two brutes shared in his turmoil.

Alas, he needed them. As idiotic as they were, they were also the scariest men in all of Europe – that trait often came in handy in the line of business he did.

Nevertheless, he began to fret over his new guest's medical condition.

David wasn't supposed to find out. But he had and he was just as angry as Cale – if not more.

"This wasn't part of the agreement!" he fumed, after bursting into his study, "if John dies, our deal is off!"

Cale regained his own composure in order to be authoritative in his rebuttal. "There's no going back on our deal no matter what the turnout is, Mr. Sheppard. And I never anticipated for your brother to be hurt so seriously. Believe me, it was my full intention to bring him here in complete, upstanding health."

He saw the tears forming in Little Sheppard's eyes and he took a silent, gleeful note in that fact. "Don't be upset."

"If he dies…" he trailed off, his face still beat red and his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and terrible anguish.

"I promise you that is not my wish," Cale swore. "But I am not God. Whatever happens will happen."

David disappeared without another word. He made another mental note to keep a close eye on him – he wasn't sure he could trust Baby Sheppard to keep up his end of the bargain if things didn't go as planned.

III

Samantha was forced to tranquilize Teyla when it had come down to it.

The woman was hysterical when she arrived back at their flat. She was inconsolable and incoherent.

The general understood that whatever information she was trying to convey was probably of the utmost importance. But at the rate the other woman was babbling and her inability to form actual words when she spoke told Sam that there would be no getting anything useful from her until she calmed down.

Putting the shot to her arm wasn't easy. Carter wanted to keep those kinds of scarce resources for emergencies – but she supposed that Teyla's incident was reason enough for an emergency as any other.

Once she and Evan had placed her on her bed, they conferred in the other room.

"Maybe she finally lost it," Lorne said bluntly. "Having to watch Sheppard without saying anything, being away from her kid for so long, I wouldn't put it past her that she –

"Teyla's not crazy," Samantha interrupted his train of thought. "She's in shock. Whatever she saw must have been traumatizing. We'll get answers from her when she's ready."

The colonel shook his head and straightened up. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

She knew she'd regret it but nodded all the same.

"I think this is a giant waste of time - being here," he said. "Even if Sheppard and _Flock_ eventually find Cale, there's no way they're going to be able to take out his operation – and in turn, there's no way we're going to be able to take out theirs. Cale's business is huge and so is _Flock._"

"It does seem dubious," she allowed. "But we don't do things because they appear to be plausible, Colonel. We do them because they're right. And just like Ford was our responsibility and we went after him, John was also a part of us and we have to own up to our flops."

"But Sheppard is in his right mind!" Evan argued. "He knows exactly what he's doing and he thinks it's right – who are we to –

"He's not a part of us anymore," Sam admitted that she was getting emotional, but Lorne was pulling the worst time to argue in the case of someone who had caused her so much grief over the past six months. "It's not his place to pursue whatever charitable mission he happens to conjure up. And I'll go as far as to say that I'm pretty sure that all of his reasons for doing this aren't unselfish. He couldn't handle Rodney being in prison and this was an excuse to break him out. Sheppard had good intentions in the beginning but his methods are all wrong and so is the fact that he thinks he's qualified to do any of this."

They were interrupted suddenly by the sound of Teyla screaming.

III

John had no concept of time as his head swam contently in a sea of morphine and other wonderful drugs.

He woke up often, tried to communicate with whoever happened to be in the room. But either they ignored him or he just couldn't recall having any sort of conversation during his loopy hours.

When they finally began to wean him off the medicine, the nightmares plagued his once happy dreams again.

Sheppard woke up in fits and sweats, crying out and tearing the bed sheets. He fought off anybody who attempted to help him. He couldn't remember for sure, but he was pretty certain that he had once bitten someone.

It was all incredibly fuzzy and the only thing he knew in no doubt was that he was in an egregious amount of pain.

The first morning that he awoke with a clear head he would remember for the rest of his life.

The sun was setting on the west side window, casting shadows throughout the otherwise empty room – save for the guest sitting in the chair across from the bed.

Instinct overruled the soreness and John sat up, trying to focus on the face of the intruder.

"David?" he breathed, relief and incredulity washed over him as he stared at his brother.

He stood up from his chair and walked over, reaching out to touch him on the shoulder. But he flinched away.

"No," he resisted, looking him up and down. "What are you doing here?"

David started to answer but then the double doors to the room swung open and in strode Cale Sternhall – for some reason it didn't take Sheppard long at all to identify him.

"Feeling better, John?" he asked smugly, snapping his fingers to the two brutes that followed him in – the ones he recognized as the responsible parties for the whole reason of him being in so much pain for the past few days. They strode past him and gripped the arms of his brother, dragging him away without much resistance.

"Hey!" he cried out in protest. He started to get out of bed to protect his little brother, but dizziness overwhelmed him and he could feel himself slipping away once again. Desperate to remain conscious, he settled back down and blinked the darkness that was clouding his vision away. "Where are you taking him?" he asked.

"Just out of the room for now," Cale informed him, winking as he took the seat that David had been in. "You and I need to talk privately now, don't we?"

He snapped his fingers again and the doors were shut, leaving the two men alone in the room.

Sheppard was instantaneously uncomfortable. He didn't want to be alone with a man so drenched in blood.

"How long have I been…?" he trailed off, gesturing to himself and the heart monitor beeping nearby.

"About a week," he replied. "You had an awful concussion."

At the mention, he reached up to his forehead and rubbed the spot he remembered getting slammed into the car window. It was still tender but he could tell it was healing. "Yeah, all thanks to your French buddies."

Cale shrugged and nodded apologetically. "I'll admit, they can be overly brutish at times, but it's so hard to find good work these days. Sometimes, you have to accept these kinds of things as harmless slip-ups."

"Harmless?" John narrowed his eyes. "Pretty sure that could have killed me."

"Nonsense," he chuckled. "I have the best private doctor around and all the medical equipment to keep you going. I don't want you dead, Mr. Sheppard – not yet, anyway."

Wanting to avoid that area of conversation, he changed the topic. "Why do you have my brother?"

"You know the answer to that," Cale waved a hand dismissively. "It was an attempt at 'lighting a fire under your asses', or whatever it is you Americans say – streamlining a slow process, so to speak."

"That's not what I meant," he replied coolly. "How did you get him and why is he still here? David is a powerful man. There's no way he'd let himself stay kidnapped this long."

Sternhall seemed please with John's skills of deduction. "Quite right," he nodded. "I'll admit a bit of deception was used to lure him across the pond at first, but once he realized what I had to offer him, he seemed inclined to stay."

"Liar," he spat. "Dave's a greedy guy but he would never cooperate with a mass murderer like you –especially when you've threatened to kill him."

"Perhaps you haven't enough experience with politics," Cale mused, rubbing his trimmed goatee with mock consternation, "but it can change a lot about a man."

"I know politics," Sheppard retorted. "But I also know David. I don't believe you."

"Then tell me," he leaned forward in his seat. "With all that power that you claim him to have, how is it that he is still here – even after seeing his brother on the brink of death for a week? His morals are slowly being stripped away, John. Piece by piece – he will eventually become like me, perhaps even more so."

He shuddered involuntarily, realizing how right the man could possibly be. Still, he couldn't allow himself to believe it. "What did you offer him?" he inquired dubiously.

Cale smiled. "The United States presidency, no less."

III

It had taken Teyla a bit to fight past her fears, but she was eventually able to write down what she saw on a piece of paper.

She watched Carter and Lorne's faces as they read it.

"Where?" was the immediate question, but Teyla did not yet know how to describe locations by streets and numbers. She simply knew how to get there.

It took a few days for her to calm her nerves before she realized how ridiculously weak she was being. She needed to get her act together to save the man she loved. Why was she so frightened?

Forlornly, Teyla recalled the days as a team when John was compromised. Whenever he was made out to be weaker than she, a knot of uncertainty knotted in her stomach and a rising panic was forcibly quelled in the midst of crises.

Seeing it now after so long was perhaps a difficult thing to witness.

But then Jennifer called. At first, Samantha suggested that she call back later, saying that it wasn't the best time for Teyla. However, she then changed her mind when she saw the Athosian woman scrambling for the phone.

Instead of hearing Dr. Keller's voice on the line, Torren was there. He could tell something was wrong and asked his mother if she was okay.

Tears in her eyes, Teyla assured him that she was just fine and she would be coming home soon.

_"I think I know what you're doing, Mama,"_ the little voice said seriously.

"You do?" she responded half-heartedly, just happy to hear her son's voice.

_"You're bringing Daddy back home, aren't you?"_

She stopped and the tears poured down her face. How did he know? She knew Torren was brilliant, but how was it possible for an eight-year-old to piece that together?

Despite the fact that she strove to keep the terrible truth hidden from her son, she replied: "Yes, I am, baby. I'm bringing Daddy home."

III

It took another couple hours before John was finally able to stand and walk around – although the area he was confined to didn't allow for much.

The doors from his bedroom were locked sturdily and the not-so-inconspicuous security camera in the corner followed his every move.

After boring himself of flipping Cale the bird through it, he began to wander around, surveying as much of his surroundings as he could.

More than anything at that point, he wanted to talk to David.

Even through their trials, Sheppard had always maintained the fact that his brother was genuinely a good guy, underneath all that horrid greed and deception. It was difficult, but even after David had convinced their father to write John off his will entirely, he knew there had to be at least one moral fiber in the man's body.

"I want to talk to Dave!" he shouted at the camera for the fifteenth time. But, like all the other times, he got no response.

Frustration rising in him, Sheppard began throwing things – things that looked expensive, such as the marble lamp on the bedside table, or the oriental vase on the mantel that looked as though it was from an ancient dynasty. He figured that Cale was superficial enough that destroying his property would warrant attention.

He was right.

The brutes barged in and gripped John by his arms, dragging him out and then dumping him into another room unceremoniously.

Cale was there, sitting at a desk and studiously writing. It looked like it was his study; though Sheppard had a hard time believing that this man had anything to do that could be done in such a place.

"You want to tell me why you're throwing a tantrum?" he asked, without looking up from his work.

John felt like he was a child being scolded. He figured being in his boxers in front of everyone under the sun that day was enough humiliation.

"That's enough," he snapped. "I want to talk to my brother, I want clothes, and I want to know what the hell is going on."

Cale sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at Sheppard as though he were working on solving a complex mathematical problem. "You're impatience is edging on the brink of irritating," he warned. "Everything happens in due time."

"Give me a pair of goddamn pants," he demanded, his anger rising.

As though he finally saw the logic in his request, Sternhall shrugged and nodded to a nameless assistant standing in the corner.

Feeling satisfied that he was getting somewhere, he decided to work his way up to his next appeal. "Where's David?"

"In his room," Cale returned to his writing, "waiting patiently, unlike you."

For some odd reason, that sentence sent John back to his childhood where his father was constantly praising David and admonishing him. He often used phrases just as the one Cale had used, always wondering why "the younger behaves much better than the older".

Sheppard had the sinking suspicion that Sternhall was doing just that – attempting to recreate his early experiences with his brother. He wouldn't put it past the man – he seemed to enjoy playing games with the mind. It certainly would have been an amusing one for someone as cruel as him.

The assistant came back into the room, carrying the pair of cargo pants he had arrived in. When he took them, they felt as though they had been washed and pressed.

Another mind game?

He pulled them on quickly, gradually regaining some sense of dignity from not being half-naked in front of everyone.

John took the seat closest to Cale's desk. "What is it you want me here for, exactly?"

He looked up and smiled slightly, tracing his goatee with his index finger and thumb. "Let me remind you – you were the one trying to find me. I only became interested in you once I learned of your pursuit."

"Interested?"

Cale put his pen down and leaned back, hands folded across his lap. "I researched everything about you. It's amazing what is available simply through Google. The rest, of course, I had to go through some lucrative sources to acquire, but for the most part, I know everything about you, John Sheppard."

He had no doubt that this was true. Sternhall was a powerful man and he predicted that he could find out about anyone in the world that he wanted to – right now to the last gritty detail.

"I'm assuming you were looking for me, for the sake of your friend, Rodney McKay?"

He nodded slowly, not sure how much information he was willing to impart, despite the fact that he claimed to know everything already.

"Now tell me," he leaned one elbow on the desk and smirked, "what would you accomplish by killing me? Your friend still rightfully belongs behind bars for treason."

"There doesn't have to be an accomplishment," John said sourly. "I'd do it for free."

Cale winced mockingly. "Such harsh words from a man that never met me before. How do you know we wouldn't be the best of friends?"

"It's men like you that I fought every day," he replied. "It's men like you that keep society at a trained bay in order to do your bidding. It's because of men like you that we can't make public the secrets that you did."

Sternhall guffawed. "I do hope you don't expect the world to believe that hogwash of a story you released."

The doors to the study slammed open and the assistant rushed back through, his face a sullen white and his composure completely lost.

"We have intruders, sir," he said breathlessly, "in the back garden."


	11. New Guests

They hadn't expected guard dogs.

Why they didn't consider that as a possible danger was beyond Sam.

Then again, the mission was jumped into last minute – they didn't prepare nearly as much as they should have.

As soon as they ascertained what exactly Teyla had witnessed, they were off.

The three had been waiting for an opportunity to nab him and the more dangerous enemy had beaten them to it.

And so it was the anger and frustration that drove them as Teyla led them to the mansion. After about twenty minutes going over a brief plan of subterfuge and back up calls, they went in.

Carter had texted O'Neill their location and the situation. She was hoping for back up but she knew better than to expect it soon. They were, after all, in an entirely different country.

But now, she could see that she had acted rashly and foolishly, blinded by the capture of her former officer and friend. They all had been. But at what cost was her mistake?

The look of fear that flashed in Teyla's eyes as she looked up at them pierced the general's heart. The Athosian woman had already made it into the garden while Samantha and Lorne were still climbing over.

As she looked ahead, she saw two Rottweilers thundering towards her.

Without a moment's hesitation, Evan withdrew his pistol and took a shot at both dogs.

Teyla was no longer in immediate danger but now it was known to the entire neighborhood that they were there.

Their best bet at that point was to try and find Sheppard, break him out, and drag his ass back to the States before they got caught.

Sam tried not to think of the odds of their success – she knew they were slim to none. But they were already in this mess; it was time to get dirty.

The two fell over the edge to join Teyla, staying low as they followed the wall around the edge.

Already there were investigators to the disturbance, two large men with flashlights, rushing around the garden.

Sam's heartbeat quickened as she led the other two further down the wall, attempting to stay as far away from the lights as possible.

Then she saw it – a side door, perhaps for servants or the gardener. Whatever its use, it was conveniently out of sight, hidden in the darkness, away from the casting lights.

Gesturing for Lorne and Teyla to follow her, she crouched low and scurried towards the door.

Just as her hand rested on the handle, she felt someone grip her shoulder.

III

The sky was getting darker and Ronon knew that it was even more dangerous for him to be out and about than it was Sheppard – he was more recognizable to those that were looking for them, not to mention the fact that he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Frustrated and worried, he returned to their residence, slamming the door behind him and pacing about.

"Did you find him?" McKay asked, suddenly appearing.

"Does it look like it?" he growled, still pacing as his mind raced.

"Oh my god," Rodney muttered. "Oh my god, he's dead."

"Will you shut up?" Ronon pushed the shorter man aside as he made his way up the stairs into the room where Sheppard stayed.

He began looking through drawers, tearing off the bed sheets, searching through piles of dirty laundry, looking for something, anything, that would give him insight into where John would be.

The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps Sheppard had figured he ought to seek out his brother on his own – trying to pull off another macho, solo act that ultimately never helped anyone. But for some reason, that possibility just didn't seem plausible enough.

Things were different than they were when they were on Atlantis. He was in more constant danger but by less dangerous things. There were no Wraith to keep at bay from the base but there were always people looking for him.

And now that he had an entire team behind him, consisting of up to about a hundred people – it wouldn't be in his nature to simply abandon everyone, even if it was for his brother.

No, the only logical conclusion was one the Runner didn't want to consider.

That he was captured.

III

John's heart leapt at the thought of a rescue team. But then it sunk at the obvious unlikelihood of success.

There were too many variables Cale had on his side that no small team could overcome. Whoever it was would soon meet their doom.

As they waited for an update, Sternhall seemed anything but concerned. He ended their conversation but also went back to writing down whatever it was he was so focused on earlier.

When the doors finally opened again, John was unbelievably on edge with ancticipation.

"They're in the kitchen, sir," the assistant informed, seeming less harried than before, his hair smoothed back down and his rumpled dress shirt seeming smoother.

Not even looking up, Cale motioned with a finger. "Kill them."

"But sir –

The assistant then looked at Sheppard and hurried over to Cale's side, whispering something in his ear.

John knew something was wrong when the man's entire face lit up like a Christmas tree. Delightedly grinning at Sheppard, he said, "Never mind, then. Bring them right in."

Growing more and more suspicious, John narrowed his eyes at the man. What was going on?

Three or four minutes later, the doors opened once again and in strode the two brutes, one holding tightly to the arm of Colonel Evan Lorne and the other holding, in each hand, the small arms of General Samantha Carter and Teyla Emmagen.

III

Cale was ecstatic. He really hadn't anticipated such a wondrous twist in the plot that was his story.

Unable to contain himself, he clapped his hands together and jumped up, striding swiftly over to his newest guests.

"I just have to say, I am so delighted to meet each of you," he grinned, holding out his hand in greeting. Not surprisingly, none of them reached back.

"Evan, Samantha, Teyla," he nodded instead, "I trust you're doing well."

"How do you know our names?" Colonel Lorne asked skeptically.

"He knows everything about everyone," John finally spoke up for the first time since their entrance. He stood, his eyes fixated on Teyla, clearly attempting to convey some sort of intimate message that Cale didn't care to be a part of. "It's just something about him you'll learn to love."

Changing the subject, he crossed his arms and grinned. "Well done," Sternhall applauded, shaking his head in awe. "I'm telling you, I truly did not expect a rescue party for America's Most Wanted – that is certainly astonishing."

All three lowered their eyes for a brief instant, telling Cale everything he needed to know.

"Unless…" he mused, walking slowly around them, "you aren't here to rescue Sheppard at all."

The silence that fell throughout the room was truly sensational. "Unless you're here because you're angry you didn't 'take care of him' first – the dangerous little devil he is. How terrible that would be if I somehow were able to coerce some sensitive information from him…"

He caught the forlorn glance between Teyla and John and he smiled. "How interesting – star-crossed lovers, in the most literal sense of the word, and one of them is sent to kill the other."

The accusation seemed to fall on deaf ears, for the expressions did not shift on either of their faces.

It seemed as though they were both too amazed at seeing each other's faces.

Cale silently committed himself to tearing apart that bond before long.

III

"I don't drink."

He raised his brows as he turned away, setting the free cup of scotch back on the cabinet. "I didn't know you stuck to that program so diligently."

John narrowed his eyes at the man. "When you've had a problem as big as mine, it tends to stick."

Cale lifted his drink. "I'll keep that in mind," he chuckled, downing the class and then retaking his seat at his desk.

Sheppard kept casting glances towards the newest prisoners – particularly Teyla. He was astonished, angry, and overwhelmed by the fact that she was there – with Carter and Lorne, nonetheless. He had a sinking feeling that her being in danger was their faults.

He looked to the clock hanging on the wall behind Cale. It was four in the morning already. Yet the adrenaline was keeping him from feeling the effects of exhaustion – not to mention he'd slept for nearly a week.

The others however, seemed to be fighting the urge to nod off. Teyla's eyelids were drooping periodically, he noticed. She looked like Torren just after he'd fought so hard to stay up late past his bedtime.

The memory of his son pierced his heart and he tried to avoid those thoughts, but they came suddenly, like a flood. He'd been avoiding thinking of Torren for six months, racking up the guiltiest feelings.

Out of the blue, the doors opened again and Sheppard couldn't help but wonder what the point of closing them was.

This time it was David.

He watched him as his brother took a cursory glance of the people in the study before clearing his throat. "Cale, can I have a word with you?"

John could tell that Lorne and Carter knew exactly who he was but Teyla was still at a loss, she remained constantly fixated on the ground, still trying her best to stay awake.

Cale stood and buttoned his blazer. He looked to his assistant. "Show them to their rooms."

Sheppard had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that these "rooms" were not even slightly alike what their names meant. He feared worse conditions than the ones back at _Flock's_ tunnel base.

"Teyla's with me," he blurted out, standing up and attempting to convey his sternest posture. It failed a little, what with his sudden dizziness and the urgent need to sit back down.

Nevertheless, Sternhall simply shrugged and nodded his approval of the arrangement.

Lorne and Carter were led away in the exact opposite direction to god-knows-where. While John did worry about them, he had to focus on Teyla and her wellbeing. With Cale already knowing everything about him, he figured that the man could easily pinpoint the relationship between the two, making the Athosian woman his next target in his scheme to psychologically torture Sheppard.

They were thrust back into the same room he had been staying in before. The broken vase and lamp had not been picked up but the sheets had been changed and a fire lit in the mantel.

As soon as the doors closed and locked behind them, John threw a fist into the wall, not hard enough to break anything, but loud enough to cause Teyla to jump a little.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

Her eyes flashed with anger, waking her up from her momentary stupor. "I could ask you the same question!"

"_I _am on a mission," he seethed, turning away from her and attempting to regain control, "_you _are supposed to be home with Torren!"

"It was not my first choice to leave him," she defended. "The military found me and forced me to assist in locating you."

Sheppard turned and looked at her in shock. She was betraying him? She led Carter and Lorne to him? Had they been in a different circumstance, he bet that he would have already gone through court martial and found guilty of treason. She could have sentenced him to death. "I don't believe it," he laughed darkly, walking away. "After all those years of loyalty to me on Atlantis, as soon as we get to Earth you hand me over to the highest bidder –

"They offered me nothing!" she stomped her foot, her lip quivering in anger and her jaw clenching. "They took Torren away from me for just a moment and I was overcome with torment. I could only remember those five years of torture where I spent day and night listening to the cries of my child, unable to hold him. Forgive me if the love of a mother and the fear of her son is enough to agree to find a criminal."

John looked away again, unable to make eye contact with her now that she brought up those five years of torment for not only her, but him as well. The guilt of leaving her there still wracked him and she was cold and cruel to remind him of it.

His silence seemed to prod her to go on. "You seem to have forgotten us, John. When you left, you appeared to have completely removed your son and me from your mind. Every day Torren would ask if you had come home yet. And every day I had to tell him that I was not certain when you would return. Even in just six months, you've seemed to have your heart hardened against such things."

"Don't you dare say that about me!" he spun around on his heel, and placed a warning finger in her face. "Torren means the world to me."

She inhaled deeply, ready to combat him with another paragraph of biting words, but he stopped her.

"That's enough for now," he ordered. "We have to figure out how to get out of here."

He looked at the solitary window in the room. It was frosted but from what he could see, they were at the third story at least, possibly higher. An exit route from there would be difficult but not impossible, he had climbed from higher points back on Atlantis – of course he was a lot younger then.


	12. For a Moment

The next few days of John being missing were especially nerve-racking for Rodney and Ronon.

Perhaps just Rodney.

The Satedan seemed more angry than anything.

They had to move into another _Flock's_ complex in regards to safety countermeasures. Luckily for them, the occupants were quiet people who kept to themselves, but were still fiercely loyal to Sheppard. They often tried to help brainstorm with their two guests on their leader's whereabouts.

But no amount of brainstorming would actually _find_ John – that was the main point of frustration for Ronon.

He wasn't a thinker. He was a doer.

Unfortunately for McKay, he was the exact opposite, which made working together exceedingly difficult at times.

"Should we put out missing posters?" Rodney wondered aloud, tapping his pencil and watching the Runner pace about and give him a look after his last suggestion.

"Right," he sighed. "Not a pet, I know, but we lose him more often than you would a cat. And believe me, those things just wander –

"McKay!"

"What do you want me to do?" he shouted back. "I'm trying!"

Ronon leaned on his desk and glared at him. "No you're not, you're rambling."

"I do that when I'm nervous."

"Don't be nervous."

"Sorry, I can't help it; I'm a runaway convict whose friend was just kidnapped by a maniac!"

A loud thud crashed against the wall of the room they were staying in. _"Oi! Keep it down, won't you?"_

"I keep forgetting we have neighbors," Rodney sighed,

"We don't know what happened to Sheppard," Ronon jumped back onto the subject, keeping his voice at a lower volume. "Stop writing him off as kidnapped."

"That's the only viable option," he held out his hands in a helpless gesture. "Unless you know something I don't –

"Stop it."

"I'm not pushing, I'm being completely honest," he argued. "That's the only thing I can think of as to why John's gone. He has no reason to run off on his own."

The Satedan pounded his leg with his fist, seeming to fight an inner battle in his head. "Yeah he does."

Resisting the urge to prod the guy even more, Rodney settled in silence, waiting for the truth to come out in its own time.

"It's his brother," Ronon finally admitted. "Cale has John's brother."

McKay dropped his pencil. "What?"

"He made David call Sheppard just before we left the tunnels," he sighed. "The day he went on a walk he sent him a picture with a noose around his neck. I think it freaked him out."

"Well, yeah!"

They were both quiet for a moment. McKay simply sat in stunned silence. He couldn't believe that John would keep such a secret from everyone – including him! However, it did explain a lot of his behavior – not excuse it, but explained it.

"How did you know about it?"

The Runner shrugged. "He had to tell someone when I found him. He'd been staying in his office for almost two weeks and no one had seen him. It's just by chance. Not like he trusted me more than you or anything."

"That wasn't –

"Yeah it was."

Rodney sighed and looked down at his hands. "I just wish he had told us."

Ronon shrugged. "It's Sheppard. He likes to deal with things on his own."

"So do you think –

"It's possible," he replied, casting him a hopeless glance. "But if it is, we'll never find him."

III

"Have a seat, David," Cale nodded to the empty chair once the guests had left. "What's on your mind?"

Baby Sheppard was still obviously uncomfortable with the informal tone he had taken up with him. Ever since their agreement, Sternhall had been adamant about the fact that they were colleagues now, none higher than the other. But his subtle assertion of dominance was enough to keep the politician in check.

"I'm having difficulty being okay with how you're treating my brother," he said slowly, as though he were rethinking his approach, "and who are those other people?"

"Friends of your brother – they tried to break in. As far as the treatment of John goes – I'm a little offended. He's been well looked after."

David bit his lip and seemed to be holding back something he was longing to say. "I just wanted to remind you of our deal."

Cale laughed. "Who do you think has the upper hand here, Mr. Sheppard?"

The other man looked away, as if suddenly realizing his mistake.

"I'm offering you a lot more than you are offering me," Sternhall leaned towards him, invading his personal space. "And let me remind you – I have a lot more I can take away as well."

III

Despite their earlier disagreements, John and Teyla slept in each other's arms that night.

When it came down to it, they were much too grateful to be near each other to let their squabbles set their boundaries for the night.

Teyla woke up constantly, in a sweat, and trembling with fear. She kept crying out for Torren but then she would remember how far away she was from him.

Sheppard would hold her closer but it did little to ease her fear. She felt guilty for continually causing a disturbance for she knew that he was purposefully not sleeping very much.

In a strange house where they were not sure whether they were guests or prisoners was enough to put anyone on edge. John was consistently on guard duty that night.

Whenever she would sob in her sleep, he would whisper in her ear that everything was okay, though even in her delirium of dreams she knew better than that. Whether or not they would get out alive was questionable.

The clock on the bedside table said 02:56 when she decided to give up on sleep. Sheppard was already awake and upon her leaving the bed, he flipped on the lamp light.

"Teyla, you need to sleep," he said gently.

She began to pull her clothes back on wordlessly, trying her best to push through the swelling in her throat.

She heard him sigh and roll over in the bed. At least now he would get some rest – he needed it more than she did. If either of them had any luck of getting out of there, it would be him.

As she stared out the window of the room, she swore to herself that the moment she was out – if she ever did get out – she would head straight home to Torren.

Teyla couldn't believe the mistake she had made, leaving her son at home for such a dangerous mission. What was she thinking?

III

The house was loud that evening.

Ordinarily it was silent save for his footsteps every now and then. But that night – there was every possible noise imaginable: weapons fire, those creatures he kept on his property making incessant noise, yelling, fighting, and most memorably, the terrified screams of a woman.

None of this bothered her.

It was not as if it disturbed her slumber. She did not require it.

But it did provide her with more stimuli than often given – making her night enjoyable compared to her regular evenings filled with deafening silence and the occasional monotony of feeding on an elderly invalid.

However, she did know that with the new sounds came new bodies, ripe for feeding.

She opened her mouth in anticipation of catching the new scent.

There had been a new one not three or four days ago, but he was injured and kept on the far side of the building – her sense of smell did not have the range that it used to and therefore was unable to know anything about him except for his gender.

The other three that had arrived that night, however, came very close at one point. She had already picked out two females and one male from the cluster of new smells that wafted down to her prison – they were not young, but they were not too old to not enjoy if she were allowed to feed.

Perhaps he would feel generous very soon and let her have one for her enjoyment.

III

In the morning, Cale's fury had not sizzled out over night. In fact, it had only been fanned.

He was in shock at how audacious David Sheppard had been the night before. The bloke had actually tried to challenge him.

Sternhall didn't feel the least bit threatened by the small man but he also didn't appreciate any attempts made.

Instead of throwing the man into the cage with the Wraith downstairs as he felt like doing, he focused his energy into something more pertinent.

Sheppard and his gang were brought into his office very early in the morning.

He made them wait for several minutes as he finished up a few pieces of meaningless paperwork before he finally addressed them.

"Now that you have all had a taste of my stunning hospitality, it is time for you to return the favor and grant my request for information."

Immediately, all four of them broke eye contact and looked away. They knew it was coming, he suspected. And all of them were properly trained for enduring torture on account of them not cooperating, but he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt and ask them nicely before pulling out the "big guns", as it were.

"Sheppard," he sighed, already knowing how this situation was going to pan out. "Where is the rest of _Flock_ located? Are they also in England, scattered about perhaps?"

"Go to hell," was the predictable reply and Cale shrugged, unsurprised as he turned to the other three.

"Either of you can answer my question as to where the rest of your forces are."

"It is only us," Teyla replied quickly. He could tell from the exasperated looks on Lorne and Carter's faces that her answer was not to be told to him. He smiled gratefully but skeptically. "Only three of you came to attempt to capture the great John Sheppard. I find that difficult to believe, sweetheart."

"We did not want to make a scene when we found him," she readily explained, despite the conspicuous signals her comrades were making for her to stop talking.

It seemed truthful enough. Besides, Cale was not very worried about the United States military showing up on his doorstep. A rouge vigilante group, however, was a whole different risk factor.

"I'll give you another chance, John," he turned back to the stubborn ex-colonel.

A sour retort flew back in his face again, only this time there were harsher words involved.

"Don't make me do this the hard way," he pleaded mockingly. "Really it makes for quite a mess for the cleaning ladies."

"You can kill me," he chuckled. "But I'll never tell you anything you son of a –

"I wasn't planning on killing _you_," he interrupted, leaning forward. He made an obvious glance towards Teyla before returning his gaze back to Sheppard. "I'll let you think about it."

He sent them off back to their respective rooms and waited in his office.

Deep down, he hoped John remained uncooperative. He was eager to show him what he kept downstairs in the most dramatic way possible.

III

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Carter and Lorne both began scrambling towards the few windows in their rooms, pushing on them and attempting to pry them open.

The most recent inconspicuous threat Cale had just issued upon the group had sparked the sense of urgency in the two, who were meant to be the protectors during the mission – and most definitely of Teyla.

"It won't budge," Evan grunted, backing away from his window.

She sighed in frustration as hers refused to give way at all as well. "We have find something," she insisted, whirling around the room, looking for any possible nook or cranny that might be their ticket out.

He stopped in the middle of the room. Sam looked to him and saw the utter devastation and disappointment in his face. If Teyla were to die, she knew he would take it almost as hard as John had years ago.

"I promised her…" he said, his voice cracking slightly. He looked away, trying to recover his control.

"Colonel," she tried using her most authoritative voice, but she could feel her countenance breaking down as well. "I need you to stay focused. We have to –

"There's nothing we can do!" he yelled at her.

Instinctively, she slapped him across the face. "We may not be operating under regular circumstances here, Lorne, but you will still address me respectfully and as your commanding officer, am I clear?"

It took everything within her to deliver that speech without a wavering word. She wanted to let him duke it out, even if it meant screaming at her to feel better. But they did not work that way – and he had to know that.

What Evan needed at that point in time was some balance, not a friend.

He snapped to attention. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir."

She nodded but did not say another word about it.

Instead, she leaned against one of the walls of their room and slid down it until she was seated on the floor.

She tried to focus on strategies and ideas, but instead her mind was clouded with images of Jack's face. How much she wished he were there with her - helping her, encouraging her.

Lorne sat next to her. "Sheppard will figure out something," he assured. "He'd never let anything happen to Teyla."

"He wouldn't want anything to happen to her, for sure," she responded, tilting her head back to meet the wall, "but sometimes even the great Colonel Sheppard runs out of ideas."

She felt guilty for ripping away Lorne's one shred of hope and so she retracted her statement. "But who knows – maybe."


	13. Turning Back

From the moment they had been thrown back in their rooms till the instant they were escorted out again, Sheppard hadn't even glanced at Teyla.

It hurt him too much to realize what must be done.

He loved her.

He loved her since the moment he met her. He'd only been able to say it in the past three years.

But John had been in the military for almost his whole life. He knew better than to let his emotions eclipse his real responsibilities.

_Flock_ was a loyal group and he wouldn't sacrifice their collective safety for anyone. Not even Teyla.

He knew she understood. She didn't press him to talk back at the room. In fact, she remained stunningly silent throughout the entire hour and half they had.

Sheppard expected her to at least comfort him – telling him that he was making the right decision. But he was glad she didn't – it would have made it even more difficult.

"Have you made up your mind?" Cale asked, leaning back in his chair and smirking up at the two. John could tell by the man's snake-like tone which option he hope for Sheppard to choose – and it was not the one he had originally wanted.

He remained silent instead of giving him the satisfaction of an answer.

After about twenty seconds, he stood up and smiled. "Very well – I suppose we should get on with the show then. I have someone who is just dying to meet you all."

Being led down into the basement was ominous enough but the fact that the brutes were getting more and more jumpy the lower they went made Sheppard incredibly uneasy.

Carter and Lorne joined them not too much later, their slumping footsteps hitting each step with defiant reluctance.

Cale was leading the way – not looking as frightened as his larger counterparts but rather, giving off an excited attitude as he hummed a merry tune along the way.

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs and instantly John's heart began beating wildly.

The layout of the basement was intimidating enough – very few lights, cold cement walls and flooring, and, in the center of the room, a cage, reinforced with what looked like titanium-alloy bars.

A figure was hunched over in the corner, breathing heavily and painfully.

Whatever was meant to be kept inside had to be extraordinarily strong to merit such a well-built prison.

_"To force me to go without for so long will be your own undoing," _the figure hissed angrily.

Sheppard stopped dead in his tracks, despite the brute's tentative prodding.

That voice – there was something eerily familiar about that voice. It sent chills up and down his spine and caused him to shudder uncontrollably.

Teyla inhaled sharply. She knew.

Her senses had been dampened over the years but there were still traces left of what she used to be able to sense. And being this close assaulted those sense with such ferocity, that she nearly fell backward.

"Calm yourself," Cale replied to the figure. "Your wait is well worth the reward."

The shadow stood and stretched to its magnificent height. It turned and walked forward, into the small area of light given off by the flickering light source within the cage.

The stark red hair contrasted greatly with the grayish-blue skin and John cried out involuntarily upon the sight of the Wraith Queen.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of him and she rushed towards the bars of her prison. _"Sheppard!"_ she hissed excitedly.

Sheppard recognized her as one of the queens he had to face off in an invasion of a hive ship. She was relatively easy to incapacitate, based on the fact that she and her crew had not fed in awhile. But he had never gotten around to making sure she was one hundred percent dead.

_Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, _he thought ruefully, trying to grapple with what he saw before him.

_"I've been waiting years for this,"_ she carried on. Then something behind him caught her eye and her fanged grin extended even wider. _"Am I privileged to have both Sheppards in one feeding?"_

"Shut up, you," David's voice from behind him retorted. "You're not having either one of us."

She looked genuinely disappointed – and then furious.

"This will be your meal for the next week or so," Cale pushed Teyla forward, ramming her against the bars of the beast's cage. The woman jumped back from it, just in time to escape the reach. "Relish it," he admonished.

The Queen stared at her for awhile before cocking her head to the side. _"You are Athosian."_

Teyla did not reply. She simply lifted her head higher.

_"I reaped once from Athos,"_ she went on, _"such hearty people."_

"That's enough," Sternhall snapped his fingers and motioned to the gate.

The guards trained their weapons on the Wraith as the door slowly opened.

She backed up into the far wall of the prison like an obedient dog, anxiously anticipating her feast.

Teyla began fighting the brutes that were leading her to her doom; her screams eventually erupted as terror overtook her sense of pride.

She pleaded but her words were caught up in her cries and were unintelligible.

"Please, no!" John finally cried out, taking one more lunge towards her, only to be held back by strong hands.

"Please," he pleaded, looking directly into Cale Sternhall's eyes. "Please don't do this. I love her. She's the mother of my son, I –

"Wait, stop!"

The brutes stopped dragging her, the Wraith Queen snarled, and all heads turned to see David standing in front of Cale.

He turned to Sheppard for just a moment. "You have a son?"

"I have a family," he corrected, glancing forlornly at Teyla. "Please…please…"

"You can't do this," Dave insisted, turning back to Sternhall. "I won't let you."

"Unfortunately, you don't have any say in this," the other man laughed. He nodded to the men to continue to lead her into the cage.

What happened next was too quick for John to follow. But in the end, he only saw a brief flash of David grabbing the pistol out of the holster of one of the guards and suddenly one of the brutes was on the ground, blood pooling from his head.

Immediately, three guards had John's brother pinned to the ground.

After the situation had regained control – the door to the prison shut again, Teyla and Sheppard both restrained even more tightly. Cale approached Dave, who was squirming beneath the many strong arms and weapons that kept him down.

He kicked him in the face. He cried out, covering his face with his hands, but by the amount of blood that was already pouring through the crevices in his fingers, it was obvious that severe damage had already been done.

John tried to wrench free once more at the sight of his brother being beaten mercilessly. But it was no use. He was held back now by his throat, preventing any movement whatsoever as he watched, helpless.

Cale bent over to David, coming close enough to spit in his face.

"What a disappointment, Little Sheppard," he said. "But at least you've managed to stave off what you just sacrificed your life for."

"What you want to do, sir?" the brute holding Teyla asked in broken English.

"It's feeding time," Sternhall said simply, standing back up. "Feed her him."

The Wraith hissed joyously and rattled within her confines.

"No!" John shouted. "No! _God no_!"

The men didn't have very much difficulty dragging David's lifeless body into the cell with the Queen. He was already beaten to a pulp and was barely able to stand up once they had shut the door behind him.

For some reason, the guards had released Sheppard and he rushed to the bars that separated him from his brother. But an electric field sparked, knocking him back as he watched the horrid scene unfold before him.

She wasted no time as she lurched forward, pouncing on the man, ripping away his shirt and tie, and plunging her feeding hand into his chest.

At that precise moment, David turned to look at John, his face already aging past his older brother. His eyes betrayed signs of deep sorrow – for everything.

He knew he should, but Sheppard couldn't look away as he watched the life of his kid brother slowly being sucked away.

The eyes of the politician began to sink inward, his skin became loose and ragged, and his hair thinned then finally disappeared.

She wasted no amount of sustenance as she drained every second of his existence into her own body, relishing it with satisfied moans when she was finished, leaving nothing behind but the almost skeletal remains of David Sheppard.

The room was silent. Even the Queen retreated to her corner in quiet while the rest stood around in shock.

But John was screaming. He lunged at the cage time after time, continually electrocuting himself to the point where his hands were covered in burns.

The last thing he remembered before he fell unconscious was the cool prick of a hypodermic needle entering the skin of his forearm.

III

Teyla had seen feedings countless times before. They had all been horrifying and followed by endless nightmares.

But this one had been the most scarring by far.

John was inconsolable.

He was consistently drugged in order to keep him under control. He snapped the wrist of the doctor during one dosage and they had doubled it, sending him spiraling into a world of nightmarish delusions.

She was kept a distance, but forced to stay in the same room. A guard was posted by her loved one's bedside at all times, watching her struggle against wanting to comfort John in his time of need and wanting to remove herself from the pain.

Whenever Cale came to gloat – or what he called "check-ins" – he often reminded Teyla that it was her fault what happened to David.

But she knew better than to cooperate with the man's mind games. She'd endured worse before and didn't take any of his words to heart.

Besides, she didn't think she could feel any worse about the whole thing even if she tried.

But she was wrong.

One cold night, John woke up, slightly more clearheaded than he had been.

He called for her and she instinctively rose from her place in the room, only pausing before the man that blocked her way. To her surprise, he graciously stepped aside, allowing her passage.

Teyla fell to her knees and gripped Sheppard's hand and put it to her cheek, assuring him of her presence. "I'm here, John."

He didn't say much else, except for a few babbled words about the Wraith. She responded very little, just to let him know that she was listening, though there was little to nothing she could contribute to the conversation.

Near the end of it, however, he continually asked her where "Davey" was. She'd never heard him refer to his brother in such a childish way and it made her wonder if the drugs were making him revert back to a younger state. Nevertheless, she knew she couldn't tell him where his brother was while he was in such delirium. So she began to sing softly to him, using her other hand to smooth away the sweat and sticking hair from his forehead.

All the while he repeated the same question over and over: "Where's Davey?"

III

"Yeah, I'm going to pass on that offer."

"It wasn't an offer, Jack."

He turned to look at her. She was standing strong, chin lifted up in a defiant manner and a hand firmly clasped around the child's.

She looked healthier than she had. Perhaps having a purpose in her life rejuvenated her spirits enough to fill out her sunken cheeks and brighten her once dull eyes.

Still, it wasn't going to make her "suggestion" any more appealing.

"No," he said firmly and moved past her, tousling the kid's hair as he did.

He stuffed his remaining items into his pack. She continued to stand there, silently, until he finally sighed in resignation.

"Jennifer, you have to understand how important this is. I'd really rather not have someone else I've got to look after. Plus, who's going to watch Torren?"

"He's coming with us," she said as-a-matter-of-factly.

Jack guffawed. "Alright, you just lost all credibility you might have had."

"Listen to me," she pleaded, letting go of the boy and stepping forward. "McKay wouldn't be expecting me. I'd be the perfect ploy to get him to come out into the open. Torren might be able to do the same with John."

"I have a hard time believing you're willing to help put the man you love back in prison," he turned and began zipping up his suitcase.

Keller shrugged. "I'd rather have him in prison than doing stuff like this where he could get killed. Besides, I want to help. Those are my friends that are out there. Doesn't it worry you that we haven't heard from those three in almost a week?"

"Why the hell do you think I'm going?" he snapped. "Of course it worries me! Sam is my wife. I love her. And the fact that she's not responding to anything scares the shit out of me!"

"And I love Rodney," Jennifer said sternly, getting even closer despite his tone. "How do you think his predicament makes me feel? If something happened to Carter and the rest, it doesn't look good for him either. Now please, let me come."

O'Neill sighed and glanced at the kid who was rubbing his sleeve underneath his nose, looking expectantly up at him. Torren was quiet but Jack knew better than to assume he didn't understand everything that was going on around him.

Jennifer looked back at the boy as well. She turned to O'Neill and whispered: "I swear on my life this boy will be safe."

"Good," Jack picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Because it's not me you're going to be answering to if anything happens to him."


End file.
